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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29290470">The Disappearance Act</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppleNapoleon/pseuds/AppleNapoleon'>AppleNapoleon</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel (Comics), Young Avengers (Comics)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aliens, Background Teddy Altman/Billy Kaplan - Freeform, Canonical Character Death, Fish out of Water, Gen, Motherhood, Mrs Altman deserved better, Parents As People, aliens in hiding, parenting</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 06:00:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>33,280</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29290470</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppleNapoleon/pseuds/AppleNapoleon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He is not her son. She has no right to pretend he is. He is a prince, and she is a lowly nursemaid. She has no right to call herself his mother; no right to keep his history secret from him; no right to choose for him an ordinary, human life when his destiny is to be so much <i>more</i>.</p><p>No right – and she does it anyway.</p><p>(She had a story. She had a heart. She liked pink lemonade).</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mary-Jo Altman &amp; Teddy Altman</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>41</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This fic lived in my mind before <i>Emperor Hulkling</i>, but that's what gave me the push to finish it. As a result some of it is a little at odds with canon - most notably I figured that Mar-Vell was dead by the time Mary-Jo and Teddy got to Earth, but having looked at the Marvel timeline he should probably die when Teddy's like ten or so? But rewriting the whole fic to conform to that was Hard so I gave up. I hope you can forgive me! Also for any details I got wrong about Skrull culture. </p><p>This is bascially my attempt to give Mary-Jo Altman a backstory, and to explain things like the discrepency between her being called both a "nursemaid" but also a "handmaid," her collection of self-help books, <i>why</i> she would keep Teddy's heritage a secret from him, and also where she got a gun. </p><p>All art by <a href="https://lizzarts.tumblr.com/">Lizzlybonk</a>. Thanks as ever to my editor Pips!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
<br/><br/>
<br/><br/>
  </p>
</div>He is not her son.<br/><b></b><br/>He is not her son, and yet it is the easiest lie to tell. It falls from her lips again, and again, and again.<br/><b></b><br/>He is not her son.<br/><b></b><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div><b></b><br/>Anelle is a princess – it was not difficult for her to charter a small Skrull ship, fit for flight through space and portals and planetary atmosphere alike. They travel together to the wormhole in the Andromeda galaxy, but this is as far as the princess can go. Her absence would be noted. Her maid's will not.<br/><b></b><br/>Her back is turned for Her Highness' final farewell to her babe.<br/><b></b><br/>"My dear, sweet Dorrek," says the princess, her voice so soft, so tender. "My beautiful boy. Find the joy I couldn't give you."<br/><b></b><br/>When the baby is placed in the nursemaid's arms, his skin is soft and pink.<br/><b></b><br/>"Take care of him," says Princess Anelle.<br/><b></b><br/>"Of course," says the nursemaid. "I will raise him well, as I did you."<br/><b></b><br/>Princess Anelle looks down at her son. Her eyes are bright, but there are no tears. She will make, thinks the nursemaid, an excellent Empress. Princess Anelle is royalty, but her heart remains tender. Others have not been able to stamp that from her yet.<br/><b></b><br/>It is, thinks the nursemaid privately, her princess' most admirable trait.<br/><b></b><br/>"I hope we see each other again," says Princess Anelle. "You, me. Dorrek. Maybe in a brighter future – "<br/><b></b><br/>"He will know your love," the nursemaid promises.<br/><b></b><br/>Princess Anelle smiles. "Thank you," she says.<br/><b></b><br/>The nursemaid, with the wish for a brighter future in her arms, climbs into one of the ship's escape pods. The wormhole in the Andromeda galaxy has become a hub for travellers of the universe. It will not be difficult to find passage to Earth from there.<br/><b></b><br/>Princess Anelle stands on the other side of the escape pod's glass doors. She meets the nursemaid's eyes.<br/><b></b><br/>The princess places her hand upon the glass.<br/><b></b><br/>"Let him be kind," she says.<br/><b></b><br/>The pod jettisons.<br/><b></b><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div><b></b><br/>She claims that they are Skrull refugees, forced to flee their home by the Kree. (This is not entirely false). They want to go to Earth, she explains. That little planet with its soft-skinned, clawless creatures. They will be safe there, she says.<br/><b></b><br/>"Are you sure?" she is asked, again and again and again. By smugglers and pirates, captains and crooks. "There are nearer, easier places. Earth isn't the best place to hide from trouble."<br/><b></b><br/>No, she insists, Earth it must be.<br/><b></b><br/>She has the money to pay for their passage, so more questions rarely follow. Princess Anelle had pressed jewellery and other precious things into her palm before they left Tarnax IV – little, valuable things that a princess commonly owns, that likely no one else will notice the absence of. She is trying to keep some, hidden in the seams of her clothing, to ensure security on Earth, but that supply grows smaller each time they must change vessel. They travel from outpost to outpost, suffering such indignities as they do: held in cramped, tiny spaces, stiff still and silent, breathing the same hot air as criminals on the run and fleeing victims of war and others less unnecessarily forthcoming with their life stories.<br/><b></b><br/>His Royal Highness Dorrek VIII is remarkably well-behaved. It is natural for a Skrull infant to take the form of those in its closest company, and luckily he fixates on his caregiver for this. He hatched blond-haired and blue-eyed, like his damnable Kree father, but green-skinned and sharp-fanged like his mother, and too with traits not entirely attributable to either parent. When she changes his swaddling blankets the first time she finds tiny wings growing from his back, thick membrane stretched between thin bones and tipped with horns. It's not unusual for a Skrull to grow wings when necessary, though being a domestic servant the nursemaid has rarely seen them. She wonders if it means anything that this little prince was born with them.<br/><b></b><br/>His Royal Highness Prince Dorrek VIII adopts a more usual Skrull visage at his ersatz mother's silent prompting: skin a deeper green, blacker hair, his wings shrinking back into his skin, his chin growing and hardening, his little teeth sharp and sweet.<br/><b></b><br/>His Royal Highness Prince Dorrek VIII rarely cries. He watches the world with large eyes or sleeps. She feeds him when she can, her own milk and whatever bits of meat and blood she can lay claim to – far inferior to what a young prince should be nursed on, but sufficient for now. Once they reach their destination he will have the life suited for him. She has heard that the Avengers – that group of humans with powers unusual for their kind who (strive to) protect their planet – live in some sort of grand house in one of their cities. Far less than a Skrull palace, but again, it will be sufficient for now. Until the day His Highness Dorrek VIII grows into the fine warrior his royal Skrull heritage ensures, and takes back his place in his rightful home, with his true mother at his side.<br/><b></b><br/>She watches him sleep, when there is silence in the hold of whatever ship they have been smuggled onto. When no one is awake to witness.<br/><b></b><br/>He is not her son.<br/><b></b><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div><b></b><br/>She has no means to keep track of time – how would she even measure it, so far from the Throneworld and its sun? – but it takes a great deal of it to reach the vessel that will, at last, see them to Earth.<br/><b></b><br/>It is an old, rickety thing, but she is assured that it has entered and left the Earth's atmosphere hundreds of times without triggering any of the humans' sensor or alarms, and that it is her best chance of getting to the planet. The crew of it have little interest in the stories of the passengers, and that is how she prefers it. No questions, save the necessary haggling of the price.<br/><b></b><br/>A thick Earth book is passed around the hold as they pass the Earth's system's outermost planet – a tiny, frozen thing that the Skrulls would certainly never have given the dignity of being classed a <i>planet</i>. The book is well-worn, the pages made of some sort of glossy substance, bound with a kind of wood or similar.<br/><b></b><br/>"We're in the home stretch," says the second-in-command, who has refused to give her name to anyone aboard. Her hair is a prehensile array of spikes. "That's an Earth history book. Use it for inspiration – names, faces. Whatever."<br/><b></b><br/>There are a handful of others travelling to Earth as refugees: another Skrull, though from the colonies and disinclined to bond; a small, grey-skinned couple with long fingers and large eyes; someone furred, with fangs and glowing red eyes; a child-like thing without a mouth but able to press themselves into the tiniest of cracks.<br/><b></b><br/>She waits her turn with the book, poring over its pages when she gets it, carefully studying. His Royal Highness Prince Dorrek VIII gnaws on a corner.<br/><b></b><br/>A few hours later the group are told they need to take something called an "ID photo" if they wish to live among the humans as humans. The grey couple have thick bracelets upon their wrists that turn out to be hologram projectors, and become, from what the book depicted, an ordinary Earth people: a woman with her hair in a tight grey bun, a man with a long face and small round glasses. They adopt wrinkled, pale skin, and have their photographs taken with dignity.<br/><b></b><br/>"Your turn," says the ship's second-in-command.<br/><b></b><br/>The nursemaid sits herself on the small stool provided in front of a white screen, His Royal Highness Prince Dorrek VIII dozing in her arms. She shifts herself to a human appearance: blonde hair and blue eyes, to match His Highness'. Pink-peach skin, like His Highness' father. She looks at the camera.<br/><b></b><br/>"Will he need one?" she asks.<br/><b></b><br/>"Too young," says the second-in-command. "You picked names? No smiling."<br/><b></b><br/>"Yes," says the nursemaid. The camera flashes.<br/><b></b><br/>"He will be Theodore," she says. Theodore, a great hero and leader of the United States of America, the country they will be living in with the Avengers. A good, strong name, with a good lineage.<br/><b></b><br/>The second-in-command writes something down. "And you?"<br/><b></b><br/>The nursemaid blinks. "Me?"<br/><b></b><br/>The person operating the camera rolls their eyes. "<i>You</i> need a name too, Mother."<br/><b></b><br/>His Highness Prince Dorrek VIII gurgles.<br/><b></b><br/>She looks down at him.<br/><b></b><br/>He has followed her lead: become pink again, hair gold, eyes cerulean. His fingernails are short and blunt, and he reaches for her with his tiny hands. She places her little finger within his grasp and he holds it tight, brings it to his mouth to suckle with an expression of utmost contentment.<br/><b></b><br/>There was a mother mentioned in the Earth book.<br/><b></b><br/>"Mary," she says. "Mary- oh!"<br/><b></b><br/>His Highness Prince Dorrek VIII grins, showing his flat white teeth. No blood has been drawn, which was the surprising thing.<br/><b></b><br/>What a gentle little child.<br/><b></b><br/>"Mary-Jo it is," says the cameraperson.<br/><b></b><br/>They are given their "identification" before the ship breaches Earth's atmosphere. Only she, the other Skrull, and the grey couple are going through the process of "naturalisation" – the other passengers seem happy to seek a less conventional time on Earth. As identification goes, it is laughably <i>flimsy</i>. Just a piece of hard plastic bearing a heading of <i>California</i> and covered with strings of strange numbers, with her photograph on the left-hand side. It states that her hair is "BLO," her eyes "BLU," and that her name is Mary-Jo Altman.<br/><b></b><br/>"Altman?" she asks.<br/><b></b><br/>"Yeah," says the cameraperson, as if they are saying something very intelligent and clever. "<i>Alt</i>-ernative hu-<i>man</i>. Get it?"<br/><b></b><br/>"Theodore Altman," she repeats.<br/><b></b><br/>It will do.<br/><b></b><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div><b></b><br/>The ship parks in New York, which suits her needs exactly. There are no fond, overwrought farewells: they were companions in need, and nothing more. The grey couple leave. The furred person unveils wings and leaps to the sky. The child-like person disappears. The other Skrull – now a male human with curly brown hair and thick glasses – walks away. Each to begin their new lives on his tiny planet.<br/><b></b><br/>It is not hard to find the home of the Avengers. Had she been forced to ask she would have, but one of the first items she picks up is a folded map of New York City, with the Avengers Mansion clearly labelled. Dorrek VIII cheerfully nibbles on it as they walk.<br/><b></b><br/>(Once again, she thanks the stars that Anelle wanted her staff knowledgeable of Earth's language. It was primarily for the princess to practice for visitations of the Avengers or Fantastic Four, but it is another example of Princess Anelle's intelligence and foresight).<br/><b></b><br/>The Mansion – white brick, terribly gaudy, crouching like some sort fancy frog – is surrounded by a wall of brick and iron. The gates are closed. She could, she thinks, <i>probably</i> climb them, but not with a babe in arms. It would also probably run counterintuitive to the smugglers' last decree: "<i>Blend in</i>."<br/><b></b><br/>"Hello?" she calls. The closed front door of the house is some distance from the gates. "Hello? I need to speak to Captain Mar-Vell. It's urgent."<br/><b></b><br/>She does this for some minutes, well aware that her frustrations are leaking into Dorrek VIII's mood, turning him from pleased and gurgling to grizzly and fussy. Yet no one appears at the Avengers' door, and the gates do not open.<br/><b></b><br/>Eventually, someone – a human, this one dark-skinned and wearing <i>very</i> bright clothing – approaches her. "Miss," they say. "They're not going to let you in."<br/><b></b><br/>"They <i>have</i> to," she says. "I'll stay here for days if I must."<br/><b></b><br/>"No, miss, they – " They roll their eyes. "They're not going to let you in, cos Captain Marvel is dead."<br/><b></b><br/>She stops.<br/><b></b><br/>"Dead?" she repeats.<br/><b></b><br/>"No, no," she says, "that can't be – <i>how?</i>" What could have felled a warrior like that? Loathe as she is to admit it, he was a Kree of significant strength. For him to be killed in battle was <i>impossible</i>.<br/><b></b><br/>"Cancer," says the human. "Sorry. You a fan?"<br/><b></b><br/>"No," she says. "No, not at all. I hate him. He changed my life."<br/><b></b><br/>The human nods. "I hear you. Sorry. Uh. Good luck?"<br/><b></b><br/>They leave.<br/><b></b><br/>There are seats on the street opposite the Avengers Mansion. It's a busy spot, and looking around she's surprised that it took so long <i>for</i> someone to approach her. As soon as she's stepped away from the gate her place is taken by humans squealing in delight, posing, giddily arguing over the best Avenger.<br/><b></b><br/>Mar-Vell is <i>dead</i>.<br/><b></b><br/>She sits upon the metal bench.<br/><b></b><br/>Mar-Vell is <i>dead</i> – and with him die her plans.<br/><b></b><br/>What does she do <i>now?</i><br/><b></b><br/>Dorrek VIII is whining. She absently gives him her finger.<br/><b></b><br/>What options does she have?<br/><b></b><br/>This is the future she had envisioned:<br/><b></b><br/>She and Prince Dorrek VIII would live among the Avengers, under the care of Mar-Vell. Prince Dorrek VIII would be raised by these heroes, and though their tutelage would obviously be lacking compared to a true Skrull education he would learn. He would grow, golden and glorious, and be beloved by this planet and its peoples. She would spend her days on Earth teaching the young prince all about his home, his history, his mother, and tending the wounds he would receive from his juvenile battles. One day, Mar-Vell and Prince Dorrek VIII would journey beyond their galaxy to battle for Dorrek VIII's place upon the Skrull throne. Their victory would be greeted joyously by Princess Anelle. Her nursemaid would be allowed to return to her place in the royal household – and perhaps, in gratitude for her services, be allowed to aid in the raising of Dorrek VIII's heirs.<br/><b></b><br/>This is the future she now envisions:<br/><b></b><br/>…<br/><b></b><br/><i>There isn't one</i>.<br/><b></b><br/>She is not a <i>warrior</i>. She is not a tactician! She's not a politician! She's not even a proper <i>tutor</i>. She's just a <i>nursemaid</i>. Princess Anelle only promoted her beyond that duty, to a place in the princess' personal entourage, because of <i>fondness</i>; it was no reflection on her own skill! All she knows to do is raise <i>infants</i>. Keep the babies hale and hearty, feed them, clothe them, bathe them as she must; teach them the beginnings of their language, to walk, to recognise shapes. Her place is in the nursery.<br/><b></b><br/>She has no business <i>raising a prince alone</i>.<br/><b></b><br/>She could return to Tarnax IV, perhaps. Return to the Princess' retinue. Perhaps she could raise the child in secret there, in a little home far from the royal palace. Get a message to Princess Anelle. The Princess could visit her young Prince sparingly, telling him of his true lineage, and someday he would have the strength to overthrow his grandfather. Or perhaps the child's presence would spur Princess Anelle to action, and <i>she</i> could overthrow her mad father, and welcome her blood back to her arms herself.<br/><b></b><br/>What, though, would they do were they to be discovered before that time? They escaped the Emperor's rampage by the skin of their teeth. If there was even a <i>whisper</i> that the child was on a Skrull-dominated planet, the killings would doubtless continue until every Skrull child lay dead and their infant blood seeped into Tarnax's soil.<br/><b></b><br/>She could seek out the Knights of the Infinite: the rumoured group of Kree-Skrull hybrids, living in secret on a far planet, awaiting the saviour that will wield the Star Sword and unite the warring species – but she doesn't even know if they're <i>real</i>, never mind where to start looking for them. What if she did find them? Would they allow her to join their ranks? Or would they take Prince Dorrek from her, insist on raising him themselves? Moulding him into another faceless legend, doing nothing but waiting for a mythologised fairy-tale to save them from having to make any of their own decisions; taking all that remains in him of Princess Anelle's kind heart and tearing it from his tender chest.<br/><b></b><br/>What else can she <i>do?</i> She's not his real mother! She doesn't know how to raise a child alone! She doesn't know how to teach someone to <i>fight</i>, especially not to the standards required by a member of the royal family.<br/><b></b><br/>She could… perhaps, she could stay on Earth, and continue to petition the Avengers? Mar-Vell may be dead, but surely there were some fond feelings for him lingering in his companions? Wouldn’t they be happy to raise his child? Prince Dorrek could still have his glittering future, even if she cannot be a part of it –<br/><b></b><br/>She looks down.<br/><b></b><br/>He is not her son.<br/><b></b><br/>Prince Dorrek has truly beautiful eyes, even with their unusual colouring. They're <i>such</i> a clear, bright blue – and his eyelashes! Someday, when he is King, songs will be composed in his praise, and if they don't dedicate at least a verse to his eyelashes the bards should be executed for their incompetence.<br/><b></b><br/>Prince Dorrek pulls her finger from his mouth.<br/><b></b><br/>"Aaah!" he says brightly.<br/><b></b><br/>She stands, and decides.<br/><b></b><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div><b></b><br/>The last of Princess Anelle's jewels she trades for Earth's flimsy currency, and with that money buys their new home. By the time Earth's sun sets they have a suitable "apartment." It took some time, but at last she finds an "agent" willing to accept her cash, albeit reluctantly, and will take her forged driver's license and signature as provided. The apartment is far from the splendour that a Skrull prince deserves, but it will be adequate. There's space, at least.<br/><b></b><br/>The day is not yet over. First she buys things for the Prince: clothing, diapers, a place to sleep, a suitable bath. The "high chair" is amusing. His very first throne; she coos as she picks it up.<br/><b></b><br/>Toys, it seems, are <i>very</i> important for an Earthen child – even more so than for a Skrull – and so she purchases a handful for him. He is particularly taken with the "teething ring," gnawing upon it with gusto as they travel the human shop.<br/><b></b><br/>When paying for her items, the service human's face turns from tired to delighted at the sight of the prince.<br/><b></b><br/>"Oh, he's <i>beautiful!</i>" she sighs.<br/><b></b><br/>"Yes," the nursemaid agrees. "Yes, he is."<br/><b></b><br/>"Ba!" says Dorrek, removing the teething ring from his mouth and presenting it to the human. She – confusingly – pretends to bite at it herself as she touches its label to her handheld scanner, before gently pushing the proffered toy back to Dorrek's own mouth. Satisfied, he returns to chewing it.<br/><b></b><br/>"Such a great age," the service worker swoons. "He's <i>so</i> cute. And very lucky! Look at all the wonderful things your Mommy's got for you!"<br/><b></b><br/>"He requires them," she says, nonplussed.<br/><b></b><br/>"Oh, <i>absolutely</i>," says the service human. "Can I interest you in a membership card?"<br/><b></b><br/>Unfortunately, she can.<br/><b></b><br/>She sleeps on the floor of Dorrek's room that first night (obviously she has given him the larger of the two, the one called the "master bedroom.") He appears largely content, even though he does complain somewhat at having to sleep somewhere other than in her arms. It is, she reflects, all he has known so far. Still, he seems happy enough contained in his crib, as long as she remains close enough that his little pink hand can reach for her through the wooden bars.<br/><b></b><br/>"This is not the life you deserve," she says, a soft, inadequate apology. "I hope only to make it acceptable, your highness."<br/><b></b><br/>"Ba!" says the prince.<br/><b></b><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div><b></b><br/>She rarely leaves the apartment in those first days. Only for food, which is oddly packaged and labelled and necessitates the purchase of a "fridge-freezer," and eventually for a bed for herself – sleeping on Prince Dorrek's floor is all her status deserves, but it's also not very good for her old back, which in turn means she is less able to carry the little Kree-Skrull warrior as he requires. She hopes he will forgive her for wasting resources on such an extravagance for herself, she thinks guiltily as she hands over the money for it.<br/><b></b><br/>The young prince is currently at the age where everything is a new discovery, including his own feet. He seems delighted with what she can find on Earth to offer him, including the strange mushy concoction labelled as "baby food." She worries that it's insufficient, as it seems to have barely any meat content at all, but Dorrek <i>loves</i> the stuff, and sometimes refuses to eat anything but it. It seems that human babies are born without teeth, which is frankly a ridiculous disadvantage. How in the world do offspring survive when they can't even defend themselves?<br/><b></b><br/>She is not yet used to the chronicling of Earth time, but it is approximately twelve sunsets since moving into the apartment that there's a knock at the door.<br/><b></b><br/>She and Dorrek look at each other in equal confusion.<br/><b></b><br/>"Ooh!" he says.<br/><b></b><br/>She puts him in his crib and closes the door. The knocking at the apartment's front door continues, almost frantic.<br/><b></b><br/>She takes a breath.<br/><b></b><br/>Right. If this is how she dies, so be it. For the Prince.<br/><b></b><br/>She opens the door.<br/><b></b><br/>A small human woman stands on the other side, her skin wrinkled, her brown hair streaked with white, her smile warm. "I thought I heard someone here!" she says. "I'm so glad this apartment finally sold. I'm Zelda, I live on the left of you. Zelda Medina. Pleasure to meet you!"<br/><b></b><br/>She eyes "Zelda" up and down. She doesn't <i>look</i> like a secret Kree or Skrull assassin, which would be the point, but she doesn't <i>smell</i> like one either. She smells like… Earth things. Something powdery, something vegetation. No metal other than her earrings. Her colourful bracelets smell like stone, and nothing more. Probably not a threat.<br/><b></b><br/>"Altman," she says. "Mary-Jo Altman."<br/><b></b><br/>"Wonderful," says the woman. "Do you prefer to go by Mary or Mary-Jo?"<br/><b></b><br/>"I don't –"<br/><b></b><br/>A scream from Dorrek's room.<br/><b></b><br/>Of course. <i>Of course</i>. How could she be so <i>stupid?</i> This was a <i>distraction</i>: separate her from the child, occupy her at the doorway, leaving the baby vulnerable and alone in his room <i>of course of course of course</i> she's so <i>stupid</i> she's just a <i>nursemaid</i> –<br/><b></b><br/>She bursts into the room.<br/><b></b><br/>Dorrek is standing, supporting himself with his fists on the bars of his crib. His face is purple with rage.<br/><b></b><br/>"<i>Aaaaaaah!</i>" he yells.<br/><b></b><br/>"Oh, how <i>wonderful!</i>" says the Zelda woman. "I was <i>sure</i> I heard a baby in here. My, he's big, isn't he? How old is he? Oh, sweetie, it's okay!"<br/><b></b><br/>She walks to the crib.<br/><b></b><br/>Before she can reach the precious infant, she is cut off by the nursemaid, Dorrek scooped up into the safety of her arms. This appears to mollify him a little, but the shouting continues.<br/><b></b><br/>"What's <i>wrong?</i>" the nursemaid asks, nonplussed. He's never done anything like this before. He's not under attack, he doesn't smell, he was fed no less than a half hour ago. He's usually so <i>placid</i>…<br/><b></b><br/>"I think someone doesn’t want to take his nap," says Zelda, as if imparting great wisdom. "Doesn't want to be excluded from all the excitement, do you precious?"<br/><b></b><br/>She reaches a hand to Dorrek. Momentarily he pauses, eyes fixed on the turquoise stones on her wrists.<br/><b></b><br/>"I'm sorry, honey, you can't have those," says Zelda, evading his grasp. "Not until you're a bit older."<br/><b></b><br/>Dorrek frowns. Opens his mouth again. <i>Screams</i>.<br/><b></b><br/>"Goodness, what <i>lungs</i> on him," Zelda says pleasantly. "Oh, the poor dear, no wonder he's fussy. He's <i>teething</i>. Oh, my Susan was a <i>terror</i> when she was teething. I think I've got some of her things, just a moment."<br/><b></b><br/>With that, she just… leaves. Zelda walks out of the apartment that isn't hers as easily as she'd walked in.<br/><b></b><br/>What a strange person.<br/><b></b><br/>Well, enough of that.<br/><b></b><br/>"It's okay," the nursemaid says, bouncing Dorrek on her hip. "It's all right. I won't let her back in, it's all right. You're safe. You're safe, I would never let <i>anything</i> happen –"<br/><b></b><br/>"Here we are!" says Zelda, reappearing at her elbow. She's offering something to Dorrek. Something round and covered in tooth marks.<br/><b></b><br/>"Oh, no," the nursemaid begins to say, "he has his own – "<br/><b></b><br/>Dorrek takes the teething ring and clamps it in his jaws. Mercifully, he stops screaming.<br/><b></b><br/>"There, there," says Zelda. "You chew on that. It's awful, isn't it, the teething? Poor little mites have no idea what's happening. Everything's new to them, of course, at that age. They've never been in so much pain! Can't blame them for screaming, really."<br/><b></b><br/>Dorrek lays his forehead on his nursemaid's shoulder, jaw working furiously.<br/><b></b><br/>"Yes," says the nursemaid, utterly bewildered as to what else she could say.<br/><b></b><br/>"Couldn't help but notice," Zelda continues, "that you don't have much in the way of furniture."<br/><b></b><br/>"Oh," says the nursemaid. "No, we – we just moved here."<br/><b></b><br/>"Do you know anyone in the city?" says Zelda. "Any family?"<br/><b></b><br/>Dorrek takes a handful of his nursemaid's blond hair in his fist.<br/><b></b><br/>He is not her son.<br/><b></b><br/>"No," she says. "No, it's just us two."<br/><b></b><br/>"Oh, you <i>poor things!</i>" says Zelda. "Come back to mine, I'll make you a coffee. I've got so many of Susan's old baby things – toys, clothes. You just hate to throw it away, don't you? It'd be <i>wonderful</i> to pass them on to someone who needs them…"<br/><b></b><br/>She takes the nursemaid's hand. What can she do but follow? She is but a twig carried along by Zelda's flow.<br/><b></b><br/>Zelda, she is told over coffee (which she takes black, because she doesn't know how else to take it), has only the one child, Susan. She is a retired employee of the Postal Service, which she says with pride. "Not a mail person," Zelda is eager to explain. "I was part of the admin, that whole thing. People forget how crucial admin is!"<br/><b></b><br/>Zelda divorced her husband shortly after taking retirement, but they're on amicable terms. "I just didn't want to look after him anymore," Zelda says. "All my life, I'd been looking after people – I have three brothers, but I'm the oldest girl, you know how it is. And I took my retirement package, and realised: I didn't have a husband! I just had someone else to look after! What about you, dear?"<br/><b></b><br/>"Huh?" says the nursemaid. Dorrek has fallen asleep. The worn teething ring is slipping from his mouth. She gently takes it from him, lest it drop to the floor.<br/><b></b><br/>"His father," says Zelda.<br/><b></b><br/>"Oh. He's dead."<br/><b></b><br/>Zelda gasps. "Oh, I'm <i>so sorry</i>," she says. "I shouldn't have – I'm sorry. I talk too much, I know. One of the reasons my husband agreed to the divorce, actually. I'm sorry. You don't have to talk about it, if you don't want to."<br/><b></b><br/>"I'd rather not," the nursemaid says truthfully.<br/><b></b><br/>"And you here, all alone, no family," says Zelda. "You know what – my brother, my oldest, Alex. He's just moved into a hospice. Cancer. Horrible. But he never married, not after he lost poor Kevin in the nineties. It was awful, truly awful what they let happen – but never mind, it is what it is. He's leaving me everything, including his house and all his furniture. I was going to just donate it to charity, but why go through all that trouble when I can donate it to someone right here?" She beams.<br/><b></b><br/>"… I have a <i>bed</i>," says the nursemaid.<br/><b></b><br/>Zelda pats her hand. "Don't think of it as a donation, then," she says. "Think of it as helping out a friend."<br/><b></b><br/>The nursemaid frowns. "We're friends?" Already?<br/><b></b><br/>"Of course!" says Zelda.<p>She wants to ask more – who in the world is Cancer, and why are they being allowed to kill so many without the Avengers stopping them? Why has Zelda decided that they're friends? What does it <i>mean</i> to have a human friend? Why does she have one? Does she <i>really</i> look like she needs this woman's <i>charity?</i> Her charge is a <i>prince</i>, and he shouldn't be offered paltry human <i>hand-me-downs</i>. He deserves everything to be <i>new<i>, and beautiful, and only for <i>him</i> –<br/>
<b></b><br/>
Shouldn't she save what money she has left after buying the apartment? She still has to purchase food, and the young prince will <i>grow</i>.<br/>
<b></b><br/>
"Thank you," she says.<br/>
<b></b><br/>
"Look after each other, that's what my father – may his memory be a blessing – always used to say," says Zelda. "Always be kind."<br/>
<b></b><br/>
</i></i></p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div><b></b><br/>Zelda's brother's furniture is… worn, but acceptable. There's a <i>lot</i> of it. A dining table, a couch, an armchair, a wardrobe, an electronic device called a "TV with built-in VHS player," and so much else – it's dizzying to watch it all be brought in, to order the people from the moving firm about, to instruct them where to put everything. Dorrek whines about having to watch it all from an embrace, instead of being allowed to explore and touch and, probably, lick as he pleases. Zelda may have spoken highly of these service people, but the nursemaid is still wary. She will hold Dorrek as close to her as she can, in whatever circumstances require it.<br/><b></b><br/>Dorrek's first order of business, once he has been released after the departure of the service people, is to clamber onto the couch. This task takes up all his attention, and he is still at it an hour later when Zelda knocks again on the apartment door.<br/><b></b><br/>"Oh, this is <i>lovely</i>," she coos when she enters, carrying a large black bag in her hands. It's twice as wide as she is. "It's so wonderful seeing this get put to use again instead of gathering dust – well hello, little one! Are you having a good time?"<br/><b></b><br/>"Ba," says Dorrek seriously.<br/><b></b><br/>"Wonderful," says Zelda. "I brought some other things for you!"<br/><b></b><br/>She opens the bag, and tips out onto the couch an assortment of clothing, toys, and shoes. "Some of these he won't need for a while yet," she says, "but it never hurts to have them near. Oh, not quite yet, darling," she says, scooping some sort of miniature winged mammal out of Dorrek's reach. "For ages three and up. Try this." Zelda hands him a set of plastic keys, which collide with a clacking sort of noise as they move.<br/><b></b><br/>Dorrek takes them as if he has been handed the richest treasure in the cosmos. "<i>Ooh</i>," he says.<br/><b></b><br/>"How old is he, by the by?" Zelda asks. "You never said. Not your fault, honey, I never give you a chance to answer!"<br/><b></b><br/>The nursemaid attempts some desperate hurried mathematics.<br/><b></b><br/>"Seven… months?" she hazards.<br/><b></b><br/>Zelda's thin eyebrows rise. "He's <i>very</i> big for seven months, isn't he?"<br/><b></b><br/>"Did I say seven?" says the nursemaid. "I meant to say… ten?"<br/><b></b><br/>Zelda nods. "Baby brain," she says. "Happens to the best of us! There's some kind of scientific thinking behind it. Let me help you get this sorted, he seems happy with his keys."<br/><b></b><br/>He does indeed. He's shaking them with vigour, entranced by the noise they make.<br/><b></b><br/>He looks up at his nursemaid.<br/><b></b><br/>He <i>laughs</i>.<br/><b></b><br/>She has to sit down.<br/><b></b><br/>"Thank you," is all she can say, as Zelda comes to fuss at her side. "Thank you. Thank you. <i>Thank you</i>."<br/><b></b><br/>(He is not her son).<br/><b></b><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div><b></b><br/>There are books among Zelda's offerings. They have titles like <i>Childhood Development</i>, <i>A Mother's Guide</i>, <i>Is My Baby Normal?</i>, and <i>What to Expect</i>; all the covers are white, bearing pictures of smiling or sleeping round human babies. Aside from the furniture they're probably the most precious of the donations. She reads them, and re-reads, and re-reads, until she can almost recite them. A guide on human babies! How they grow, when they should be able to do what – indispensable! For a moment she wonders if they were written <i>for</i> people like her: extra-terrestrials hiding among humanity, desperately trying to blend into the crowd, trying to pass off offspring as ordinary human children.<br/><b></b><br/>How slowly they develop! No walking unaided until at least a year old? No intelligible speech until two or three? How in the world have humans become the dominant species of their planet when they spend so much of their youth so very vulnerable?<br/><b></b><br/>At least thanks to these books she knows how to better excuse Dorrek's abilities. Simply add a few more months to his actual age, acknowledge that yes, indeed, he <i>is</i> big, isn't he? and so on. Why yes, his teeth <i>have</i> come through quickly; yes, he <i>is</i> very strong; yes, he <i>does</i> sit up very well.<br/><b></b><br/>She's grateful that Dorrek appears to dislike how his wings are confined in a human "onesie" and therefore rarely grows them. They tend to pop out while he's being bathed, and he finds it the height of comedy to use them to waft bath bubbles over to his nursemaid, but that's no trouble. It's not as if he's bathed in <i>company</i>. She is the only one to bear witness. (She's the only one who has to tempt him down from off the top of the fridge when he doesn't want to acquiesce to naptime).<br/><b></b><br/>It is a shame, she thinks, that no guide like these baby books exist for adult humans. She feels as if her camouflage is constantly slipping.<br/><b></b><br/>Then comes the miracle, as if her own wish called it forth:<br/><b></b><br/>She is in the supermarket, looking at the cut priced section (food! Perfectly good food, but priced cheaply because of its age or damage to the packaging!) when she glances at the small section of books. Dorrek is sitting in the seat provided at the front of the shopping cart, cheerfully swinging his legs and every few minutes announcing, "Ba!" at passers-by.<br/><b></b><br/>There is a book on the shelf.<br/><b></b><br/>The book is titled <i>How To Be Human</i>.<br/><b></b><br/>She looks around.<br/><b></b><br/>Surely it can't be that easy? This must be a trap of some kind. Yes, that must be it. It's bait, placed innocently in the open, to catch people like her. As soon as she picks it up an alarm will sound, and she will be surrounded by the Avengers, or whoever it is responsible for removing alien threats from this planet. She'll be thrown in a dungeon – or worse, exiled back to Tarnax IV.<br/><b></b><br/>She doesn't walk up to it, but sneaks, as if she were some kind of hunter. She doesn't dare look directly at it.<br/><b></b><br/>There's no one around.<br/><b></b><br/>Hand shaking, she picks up the book.<br/><b></b><br/>Nothing happens.<br/><b></b><br/>The writing on the back – the summary of the book's contents; Zelda called it a <i>blurb</i> – reads as follows:<br/><b></b><div class="center">
  <p>FROM THE AUTHOR OF "GETTING WHAT YOU WANT" COMES A RADICAL NEW SELF-HELP BOOK!<br/>
<b></b><br/>
Featured on Oprah's List!<br/>
<b></b><br/>
It's hard being a human. We live in a world our ancestors could never have imagined, in many ways, we live in the best version of this world – but many of us simply aren't equipped to deal with the things life throws at us. How can we live in this fast-paced world?<br/>
<b></b><br/>
Dr Shannon MacGyver is back with revolutionary advice ranging from jobs, family, relationships, and technology. Life has never been easier… but it's never been harder…<br/>
<b></b><br/>
To be human.</p>
</div><b></b><br/>She looks at Dorrek.<br/><b></b><br/>"It would be all right to try, wouldn't it?" she says. "It's half price."<br/><b></b><br/>Dorrek offers her his saliva-covered fist. "Ba," he suggests.<br/><b></b><br/>"Exactly right, Your Highness."<br/><b></b><br/>She buys the book.<br/><b></b><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div><b></b><br/>A Skrull's existence is simple. A Skrull has a purpose: a farmer, a soldier, a caregiver, a royal, and so on. There are rules for a Skrull. Do your duty, and do it well. Respect your rulers. Know that you are a superior species and deserve your cosmic dominance. Hate the Kree. A Skrull does not question their status, for they know what it is, and are comfortable within it.<br/><b></b><br/>It is little wonder that humans require <i>written guides</i>. It looks to be such a… <i>complicated</i> existence.<br/><b></b><br/>A human's appearance can denote their status, but sometimes it doesn't, and also that's a bad thing? Yet a human's appearance is largely <i>fixed</i>, except when it isn't. A human generally exists in a family unit, but that's <i>also</i> difficult, but existing alone is worse? A human seeks a romantic entanglement with another human, but sometimes those romances are a detriment and it is better <i>not</i> to have a romantic entanglement, because it can impact on a human's ability to work, but <i>not</i> having one impacts all the other areas?<br/><b></b><br/>She buys a few more books.<br/><b></b><br/>Human child-rearing: what a to-do! Rather than a support network of trained professionals, a human mother must largely work alone (though some books recommend the presence of a human father, and <i>where</i> is she going to find one of those?), and act as tutor, nursemaid, protector – be <i>everything</i> the child needs to grow well. At a certain age, the child goes to a school to be taught by others, but <i>that</i> can also be a very <i>damaging</i> experience, but keeping your child at home to educate them <i>there</i> causes a <i>different</i> set of damages…<br/><b></b><br/>If at any point a mother should fail in any of these areas, the resultant child can be inadequate. Sometimes it results in a child that kills other humans to wear their skin in some sort of symbolic attempt to be closer to their mother!<br/><b></b><br/>Being a nursemaid for the royal Skrull family hadn't ever been <i>easy</i>, but she had been more than capable of it. She misses the army of other servants who would help her. A Skrull nursemaid can focus on <i>their</i> part in child-rearing, and trust that others will do theirs. Not one person is <i>solely responsible</i> for the wellbeing of the baby.<br/><b></b><br/>It's exhausting.<br/><b></b><br/>At least Dorrek, on his part, is not a difficult child. He wails whenever he and his nursemaid are in different rooms, and occasionally has spells of bad moods, but overall he's by far the least trying charge she has ever had. Princess Anelle, now – <i>she</i> had been a problem, even worse than her mother. Dorrek hasn't drawn any blood, or screamed for eight hours uninterrupted, or committed a political faux pas that almost caused an intergalactic schism.<br/><b></b><br/>Dorrek is largely satisfied as long as his nursemaid remains in his sight, he is fed the baby food with pumpkin in regularly, and his teething ring is within his grasp. Generally, the nursemaid will sit reading in the armchair while the little prince continues his quest to conquer the couch, or plays with his toys, or rolls around on the floor making noises. Sometimes he insists on sitting in her lap while she reads, smacking his little hands on the paper and gurgling proudly at the sound, or twining her hair around his pink fingers, or just dozing on her breast.<br/><b></b><br/>He's an unusually affectionate child.<br/><b></b><br/>(He is not her son).<br/><b></b><br/>Zelda visits. The nursemaid is still bewildered by this human woman's decision to heap such affection on a stranger, but she is learning to accept it. Like it, even. By watching Zelda she learns how to make coffee; by borrowing "cook books" she learns to make food; by studying her she learns how a human moves, talks, makes niceties.<br/><b></b><br/>Dorrek enjoys these visits. He is eager to show Zelda what latest toy he has fit in his mouth, what new sound he has learnt, how very close he is to finally getting onto the couch cushion unaided.<br/><b></b><br/>"What a sweet angel he is," Zelda says. "Aren’t you, Teddy?"<br/><b></b><br/>The nursemaid frowns. "Teddy?"<br/><b></b><br/>"You said his name was Theodore?" says Zelda.<br/><b></b><br/>"Yes."<br/><b></b><br/>"Would you prefer I not call him that? I only thought – he's such a <i>sweetheart</i>, so gentle! And Theodore being such a mouthful – would you prefer him to go by Theo? But he's such a darling, just like a little teddy-bear. Yes you are! Yes you are!"<br/><b></b><br/>"Aaaaaaaaah," says Dorrek, throwing his head back in delight.<br/><b></b><br/>"Teddy," the nursemaid repeats.<br/><b></b><br/>She looks at the child.<br/><b></b><br/>(He is not her son).<br/><b></b><br/>"Teddy," she agrees.
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><b>Content warning:</b> <b>Death mention</b>, planetary destruction.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A non-comprehensive list of things Earth has that Tarnax IV did not:</p>
<ol>
<li>Baby food.</li>
<li>Self-help books.</li>
<li>Chicken nuggets.</li>
<li>Giraffes.</li>
<li>Soft toys.</li>
<li>M&amp;Ms.</li>
<li>Coffee.</li>
<li>
<i>Sesame Street</i>.</li>
<li>Membership cards.</li>
<li>Shopping carts.</li>
<li>Crochet hooks.</li>
<li>Shiny, colourful little approximations of Earth animals, that weigh a great deal more than anticipated, but also cost less than you would expect, and somehow keep finding their way into her shopping.</li>
<li>Commercials.</li>
<li>ABBA.</li>
</ol><p>That last may be the greatest discovery.</p><p>Among the items once owned by Zelda's brother Alex is a collection of "CDs": data discs of a reflective silver on one side, often with some sort of printed design on the other. They go into the data reader, here called a CD player, shiny side down, and play – well, anything! Some are verbal, conversations or plays, while others are music.</p><p>There is nothing like ABBA in the Skrull empire.</p><p>Oh, they have <i>tried</i>. The entirety of the Kral solar system is dedicating to replicating Earth's culture. Yet <i>nothing</i> produced by those layabouts and their hollow mimicry has come <i>close</i> to what humans have achieved in their short planetary lifespan – the distance between Kral's art and Earth's is as large as the distance between the planets themselves.</p><p>Music has a purpose: it tells a history. It demands glory. It inspires pride. Music exists to ensure stories are spread across the Empire and all who hear it are aware of the part they play in keeping the Empire grand. Music has a <i>reason</i>.</p><p>On Earth…</p><p>Some music tells stories. Some music inspires emotions: tenderness, sorrow, affection. Some music appears to have a religious purpose. A particular kind of music is called a "jingle," a result of Earth's capitalist affectations, and is used to inform its listener of a product that its creator demands you purchase.</p><p>While some music…</p><p>Some music appears to have no purpose at all! Some music <i>appears</i> to be telling you a story, but then the end comes and you realise that all you've learnt is that a person very much enjoys dancing, and that another refuses to fall down, and that some poor lost soul is desperately pleading with a chameleon god to bless them with love. There is no <i>conclusion</i>. The music is just… <i>there</i>.</p><p>Oh, and <i>musicals!</i> A story told entirely in song!</p><p>At first she excuses the constant use of the CD player with the reasoning that Dorrek enjoys it. He wiggles around, or waves his arms, or sometimes vocalises in vague time with the song.</p><p>One night, long after sunset, when Dorrek is fussing and refusing to sleep, she realises that the lullaby she was absently singing him was not, as she'd intended, Battle Hymn of Emperor Vr'gyll III (Glory to the Conqueror of Andromeda) but actually <i>Waterloo</i> by ABBA. Though it also chronicles a battle, it does so without the detail or grandeur a Skrull hymn does.</p><p>She stops.</p><p>Dorrek's forehead creases back into a frown, his closed eyes drawn tight as he begins to open them again. He takes a deep breath.</p><p>… Perhaps she could teach him of his heritage another day?</p><p>He's so <i>young</i>. What yet does he need to know about war? About death, about vengeance, about oaths? About destiny, and blood on the battlefield, and a fight he is expected to join simply because he was born?</p><p>Could he not, just for a little while… live an ordinary life?</p><p>ABBA makes him so much happier than blood ever could.</p><p>He is about to scream.</p><p>She makes a choice.</p><p>(He is not her son).</p><p>"<i>Waterloo</i>," she continues softly. "<i>Knowing my fate is to be with you.</i>"</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div><p>She is counting the money they have left. Piles of paper, piles of coins; Zelda has been indispensable in teaching the nursemaid the identity of a "quarter," a "nickel," a "Hamilton," and so on. She doesn't understand why money requires <i>nicknames</i>, but colloquialisms seem an intrinsic part of the human experience.</p><p>She is counting what is left of the money she traded for Princess Anelle's jewels.</p><p>She bites her bottom lip.</p><p>Teddy is very carefully building a tower of blocks. He places one atop the other, and then with utmost delicacy, takes it off again.</p><p>"I should have been more diligent," the nursemaid says. "I should have… I <i>could</i> have made this last longer. I shouldn't have bought myself that <i>stupid</i> bed…"</p><p>"Eeh?" says Teddy.</p><p>"It's all right," she says. "It's nothing you've done. I…" She sighs, and rests her head in her hands. "I've failed you already. How can I give you a normal, human life when I don't even know what one of those <i>is?</i>"</p><p>Teddy crawls to her feet. He places a block in her lap.</p><p>"Bah," he says seriously.</p><p>She smiles. "A most generous offer," she murmurs, and leans down to kiss the top of his head. He smells little like a Skrull now. No sharp metal tang or heated scales: he smells of baby powder, and his strawberry bubble bath, and wispy human hair.</p><p>"Aaaah," says Teddy, arms outstretched, hands opening and closing to indicate that he wants something.</p><p>She picks him up, settling him on her lap. "You certainly are getting large," she says. "I'm not sure how much longer I'll be able to carry you around like this."</p><p>Teddy places his tongue between his lips and blows air through them. It makes a noise like <i>thrrrrrp</i>. It has replaced gnawing as his favourite pastime.</p><p>"Exactly."</p><p>Teddy reaches for the pile of dimes. She gives him his block instead, which he accepts magnanimously. It goes straight into his mouth.</p><p>She lays her cheek on his head. "I think I may have to get a job," she says. Her self-help books have a lot to say about jobs, and very little of it is positive. It is very important to have a job, but it is <i>more</i> important to ensure that job is <i>fulfilling</i>, and allowing you to reach your full potential, and to be your best self.</p><p>A Skrull doesn't have a "best self." A Skrull can be their <i>worst</i> self: by disobeying the Emperor, or committing heresy, or behaving dishonourably. Yet a Skrull doing their duty is automatically their best self.</p><p>She has not, the nursemaid reflects as Teddy takes hold of her hand, turned out to be a very good Skrull.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div><p>Zelda is, again, of the greatest help in looking for a job. When the nursemaid approaches asking how to get one, Zelda goes above and beyond: she guides in setting up a bank account, writing a resume, how to behave in a job interview, what to wear, how to apply makeup. All the thousand little things that make up the whole – because, the nursemaid is learning, there is no <i>simplicity</i> with humans. Everything has <i>factors</i>, and <i>influences</i>, and nothing can be <i>whole in itself</i>.</p><p>The nursemaid has no high school certificate, no papers beyond her forged driver's license: but she can read, write, and speak the human language called English; understands numbers; can be pleasant, can be sweet. Zelda knows someone who knows someone and soon Mary-Jo Altman is an entry-level real estate agent. Just in time, too – angry letters addressed to her demanding payment for gas, electrics, water, and so on, have begun to arrive in her home. How could she raise a prince without basic amenities? How could she raise Teddy without access to <i>Sesame Street?</i></p><p>The hardest part is leaving him. On her first day of work she kneels before Teddy in Zelda's apartment, in a suit that once belonged to Zelda's daughter, holding Teddy's little hands in hers. He's standing without support now.</p><p>"I'm not going away forever," Mary-Jo Altman tells her son earnestly. "I'll be back later, okay? I promise. I'm not leaving you. You'll be safe here."</p><p>"Ma," says Teddy, placing a hand on his mother's face. "Ma!"</p><p>She looks up at Zelda. How can she convey this child's importance without telling the whole story?</p><p>"Please," she says. "Keep him safe."</p><p>Zelda nods and puts a hand on Mary-Jo Altman's shoulder. "I will, honey," she says. "I've got snacks, toys, diapers – it's been a while, but I managed to keep Susan alive when she was a little one, so I'm sure I can manage with Teddy!"</p><p>Teddy places his second hand on his mother's face, one finger going slightly up her nostril. "Mama," Teddy says seriously.</p><p>Tears spring to her eyes, and she wraps her arms around him tight.</p><p>(He is not her son).</p><p>"Go on," says Zelda gently. "You don't want to be late. He's in good hands here."</p><p>"Mama!" Teddy repeats.</p><p>She covers his face in kisses before she leaves, making him giggle. Zelda shows Teddy how to wave goodbye, which he does cheerfully from the apartment window as he watches the only mother he has known leave for her first day of work.</p><p>(He is not her son).</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div><p>There is only so long they can live like this.</p><p>There is only so long she can keep up this pantomime.</p><p>He is not her son.</p><p>She is not his mother.</p><p>They are not human.</p><p>They are not from Earth.</p><p>She is not Mary-Jo Altman.</p><p>He is not Theodore Rufus Altman.</p><p>They were not born to live in this peace, this fraudulent domesticity. They were not born to live in this place. This is not what their destinies hold. The truth will out. There will come a day when the charade ends.</p><p>Everything burns – especially when everything is built on lies.</p><p>There is only so long they can live like this.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div><p>The routine:</p><p>She awakens. Retrieves Teddy, either yawning and placid or awake and grumbling, from his crib. She feeds him, dresses him. Brushes his little white teeth. Feeds, bathes, clothes herself. Takes him to Zelda's. Bids him goodbye with kisses upon his soft round face. Waves at him from the sidewalk as she heads to the subway.</p><p>She works. She is a quick learner. She gains a reputation for being "nice," for being "helpful." She comforts crying co-workers over difficult clients, failed sales, personal problems. It's called "networking" and it's a lot easier than her books said it would be: it largely involves smiling, and listening, and nodding understandingly.</p><p>She shows clients around available properties, first under supervision, and then alone. She is kind and congenial and persuasive. In her sixth month she is made to stand at her desk while the rest of the office applaud her for her sales numbers. Her cheeks turn red and she can't stop it, and doesn't think she wants to.</p><p>She has photographs of Teddy in her purse, and proudly tells anyone who will listen about his growth, his development, what he's achieved today. She is listened to. It's dangerous to talk of him – so, <i>so</i> dangerous – but her hope is that if she can entice others to love him, it will make it so much harder for anyone to hurt him.</p><p>Her wages are deposited into her bank account. She pays bills. Buys presents for Teddy. He's growing so quickly, and seems to constantly be losing socks.</p><p>She comes home tired but pleased, and Teddy learns her schedule to the point that when she knocks on Zelda's door he's the one in front of it. Sometimes he giggles, pretending to close the door on her, only to grin up at her from the gap. Sometimes he's in a bad mood, and screams and cries until she has him in her arms and his favourite CD playing in their home (I ♥ the 80s!). Sometimes he isn't ready to leave Zelda's yet, and that's when the two women sit and talk while Teddy finishes his business.</p><p>He's learning new things every day: words, actions, numbers. Her heart breaks that she cannot dedicate her time to this education, but Zelda is doing a fine job of it: the older woman will tell Mary-Jo about their day, what they watched, what they read, how long Teddy slept for. Where they went on a walk, if they did so. About teaching Teddy to feed the ducks in the nearby park, about food he refused to eat, and food he devoured.</p><p>She takes Teddy back to their apartment. Makes his dinner, feeds it to him, and then makes and eats her own. She reads, or listens to music, or plays with Teddy. Always he is near.</p><p>She gives him his evening bath, washing his hair, singing to him gently. He likes to show her his bath toys, and seems eternally delighted at the existence of his rubber ducks.</p><p>She dries him, dresses him for bed, and rocks him to sleep. She sleeps with their bedroom doors open.</p><p>Sometimes she is seized by the terror that he won't be there when she wakes. Sometimes her mind is plagued with fear: what if Zelda learns of their true identities, and betrays them to the Earth authorities? What if a seemingly innocent co-worker recognises her, knows who she really is, and calls others to take the precious prince from this nursemaid pretender? What if a glance on the subway is enough to tell another that she is a Skrull, an enemy of this planet, and that she must be killed?</p><p>What if she wakes up and Teddy is gone?</p><p>She sleeps on his bedroom floor on those nights. The ache in her back is worth the peace of mind hearing his soft sleeping breaths brings.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div><p>Mary-Jo Altman is a single mother, and she is not the only single parent at her firm. She is not the youngest (as far as the humans know), but that's because Star is only eighteen, with a two-year-old daughter. She is brought into their fold at the first mention of Teddy, and all the parents eagerly swap pictures of their children, discuss the trials of raising a kid without help, the joy only childcare can bring. They informally call themselves the Mommy Club, Plus Gary, with the last two words provided by anyone <i>but</i> Gary. Their children range from six months (Maria's youngest son) to fifteen (Annette's eldest son).</p><p>She hates to be away from Teddy but, she has to guiltily admit, it is… <i>nice</i> to have friends here. Zelda always assures her that it's a joy to look after Teddy, and as long as she's given enough notice she's always happy to do so. There are of course days where she can't: days where Zelda is busy with her own friends, weekends with her daughter, and so on; days where she drops Teddy off at day-care, and spends all her time at work worrying about its security measures.</p><p>The Mommy Club, Plus Gary, always voice their amazement and jealousy at her getting quality childcare from Zelda for free.</p><p>"Then again," Gary says with a grin, "who could say no to that face?"</p><p>She chooses to assume that he means Teddy's.</p><p>There are Play Dates. Sometimes that means going to a park – sometimes Central Park, sometimes somewhere smaller; sometimes somewhere with a children's play area – and sitting on picnic blankets together, talking about nonsense while the children either sit in laps or run around tiring themselves out. Teddy has started interacting with the other children: babbling with fellow toddlers, sharing toys, trying to chase each other clumsily before sitting down and laughing at the absurdity of it all. He's cooed over by all the other parents.</p><p>Her protectiveness isn't questioned. She always has Teddy within her sight, whatever he's doing; always hovering near with food, or juice, or wipes, or just a kiss. The other parents treat this as expected, as usual, as <i>normal</i>. As if they could possibly understand how precious, how important, this child is.</p><p>His hair is coming in thicker now, his whole body growing larger – he's taking unconscious prompting from the other children, copying aspects of their shapes. The uncurling of his ears. The whiteness of his teeth. The wobbly see-saw balance of his walk. Ordinarily a Skrull child would be moving almost independently at this point, able to travel short distances unaided.</p><p>Teddy prefers to hold his mother's hand.</p><p>Other playdates include a thing called Soft Play, which is an entirely alien and <i>delightful</i> concept. It's generally indoors, in a cool, ventilated room with pleasant colours on the walls. Objects are made of a squishy material covered in fabric, which can be piled up, or thrown, or gnawed on. There is a thing called a "ball pit," a shallow dish filled with brightly coloured balls that children think are the <i>height</i> of brilliance. Sometimes there are inflatable structures called "bounce houses" which are intended for the children to jump around in and squeal. She accompanies Teddy whenever he wants to make use of it, partially because of his apparent age, partially because sometimes she worries he'll choose not to come down if he bounces too high. (The switch from onesies to t-shirts and pants, aside from being harder to wrestle him into, has come with the added difficulty of Teddy's occasionally growing his wings in under the fabric and using his mother's bed as a launch pad. It's lucky his bruises heal so quickly, or there would be <i>many</i> questions as to how he manages to obtain such consistent injuries to the top of his head).</p><p>She calls him pet names. Humans have so many. Sweetie, honey, kiddo, dearie, love, baby, little man – they're all so foreign, and taste so delightful on her tongue. Nonsense words that mean only, <i>I love you. You're important to me. I'm happy when I'm with you.</i></p><p>He smiles and claps and calls her Mama.</p><p>There is only so long they can live like this.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div><p>Then there comes The Day.</p><p>The Day she learns of Tarnax IV's fate.</p><p>The Day the future changes again.</p><p>She's preparing Teddy's toast, cutting into slices. He doesn't like his toast too burnt, or the butter applied too late to melt – any that doesn't meet his specific needs she eats as her breakfast. Teddy's babbling away in his high chair. She has the news on the TV as background noise, because one of her baby books recommended this to help Teddy learn to speak. She's not paying it much attention, more interested in Teddy's thoughts on the day.</p><p>The news human (a <i>news anchor</i>) is interviewing one of Earth's superhumans. Dr something, a member of the Fantastic Four. She knows vaguely of them, but intergalactic politics was never her purview. (Kl'rt complained of them <i>so much</i> when he was imprisoned).</p><p>"We're reasonably sure that Galactus does not pose a current threat to Earth," Dr Four is saying very seriously.</p><p>It took little time to acclimatise to Earth's constant cycle of being under threat, being defended by its heroes, enjoying a short period of peace, and then being under threat again. She has considered leaving New York City a couple of times, wondering if it might be better to raise Teddy somewhere safer, somewhere less exposed to building-shattering heroics, somewhere they are both unlikelier to be exposed to fellow Skrull – but on the other hand, where else would be better suited to defend him? If a Skrull armada hovers above demanding the return of the royal prince, surely it is better for that to happen in a city where so many people exist with the power to defend the child?</p><p>Still, she pauses a little at the mention of the World-Eater. He against whom armies fall. He against whom there is no defence. He against whom there is no escape.</p><p>"But what can you say to reassure our viewers about Galactus' threat to the galaxy? To Earth?" the news anchor presses.</p><p>"Earth is very well defended," Dr Four continues. "The Fantastic Four have prior experience with Galactus and the Silver Surfer. Earth is protected."</p><p>"What about the rumours of the destruction of the Skrull home planet?"</p><p>Her knife is paused on the bread.</p><p>Dr Four hesitates. "Unfortunately," he says slowly, "there does seem to be some truth to that. Tarnax IV and its people have… regrettably… fallen to Galactus."</p><p>The knife clatters on the floor.</p><p>Teddy goes quiet.</p><p>"But didn't the Fantastic Four and the Avengers play a role in bringing Galactus to his power?" the news anchor is saying. "Aren't you in some part responsible, Dr Reed?"</p><p>"It is unfortunate what Galactus has done," says Dr Reed defensively, "but if you would just allow me to explain…"</p><p>Tarnax IV. Gone.</p><p>Destroyed by the World-Eater.</p><p>She grips the kitchen counter so hard her knuckles turn white, so hard her fingernails grow into claws.</p><p>Tarnax IV destroyed.</p><p>The people dead.</p><p>Did they fight? Did they send their soldiers to the sky, to die fruitlessly against an enemy there was never any hope of defeating? Did the fallen rain down on the civilians below? Did they die noble deaths? Or did they die screaming?</p><p>Tarnax IV gone.</p><p>Emperor Dorrek VII. Empress R'Klll. Dead.</p><p>Princess Anelle.</p><p>Her rulers. Her friends. Her family. Her co-workers. All dead.</p><p>Her home gone.</p><p>Princess Anelle.</p><p>
  <i>Gone.</i>
</p><p>This is the unforgiveable thought:</p><p>Before the grief, before the mourning, before the sadness, there comes a triumph. An elation. A <i>joy</i>.</p><p>
  <i>No one is coming to claim Teddy.</i>
</p><p>The Kree know not of Mar-Vell's child, and every Skrull who did has now died in the voracious maw of Galactus.</p><p>She is the only one.</p><p>She is the only person alive who knows of Princess Anelle and Mar-Vell's relationship, who knows of the child that resulted from their forbidden meetings. She is the only person alive who knows of the precious son; the only person alive who knows that the child lives, safe and anonymous on Earth in the care of a lowly nursemaid whose absence likely went entirely unnoticed.</p><p>She is the only one who knows the true, secret name of Theodore Rufus Altman.</p><p>No one is looking for him.</p><p>No one is coming to recruit him for rulership. No one is coming to force him to be a figurehead for two races that breathe only war. No one is coming to tear out his kind heart and replace it with iron ruthlessness.</p><p>No one is coming to take him away from her.</p><p>He will never know that she is not his real mother.</p><p>He is not her son.</p><p>He will never know any different.</p><p>It's awful. An awful, disgusting, terrible thought – to be so <i>selfish</i>, when an entire planet of people is <i>dead</i>. A history, a culture, gone. Bloodlines and hopes gone. Millions, <i>billions</i> of lives extinguished.</p><p>How wretched, to think only of her own relief.</p><p>"Mama?" says Teddy. He waves his dinosaur-patterned plastic-handled fork. "Now!"</p><p>She retracts her claws. Calmly picks up the knife from the floor and puts it in the sink for washing later. Picks up Teddy's toast on its small plastic plate and takes it to him.</p><p>"Sorry, sweetie," she says. "Mommy's head is in the clouds today."</p><p>Teddy stabs his breakfast with his blunt fork, mushing the toast before gleefully picking up the pieces in his little round fingers to bring to his mouth. He swings his feet as he does so.</p><p>She watches him eat.</p><p>He is not her son. He is a prince. He deserves to know the truth. He deserves to take his place among the stars.</p><p>He is not her son.</p><p>He will never know any different.</p><p>After breakfast she cleans the buttery crumbs from Teddy's face, dresses him in his <i>Lion King</i> t-shirt and orange shorts, brushes his soft hair, takes him next door to Zelda. Kisses him goodbye as he runs his fingers over the bottom shelf of Zelda's bookcase. She takes the subway to work. She's in the office today, fielding inquiries and booking appointments and answering emails. Some hate the dullness of admin, but she's always happy to volunteer for it, as she's much likelier to finish her working day at five and be home to spend time with Teddy when not doing showings.</p><p>"Has something happened?" says Annette. "You seem different today."</p><p>She smiles. "I'm fine," she says, and it's not a lie.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div><p>Every day the story of Mary-Jo Altman grows.</p><p>She was born in California, in one of the tiny nothing towns hours from Los Angeles. The only child of an older couple. They were poor but happy. She wasn't the smartest in her class, or the most athletic, or the prettiest, but she was nice, and people liked her.</p><p>At fifteen her mother passed suddenly and horribly. Her father fell apart. Mary-Jo Altman dropped out of high school to care for her father, and to take over as the family breadwinner when her father's grief rendered him incapable of work. She worked cash in hand at a day-care that didn't ask questions.</p><p>Her father passed when she was nineteen, leaving her little but happy memories. The following years were the hardest of her life, working as many jobs as she could manage for meagre pay without hope for any sort of improvement.</p><p>Then: sudden, unexpected, beautiful and terrible – she fell in love. A young man, Mark Altman, entered her life. They quickly grew besotted. His family hated her, claiming she only loved his status, his money, his brilliance. Mark didn't listen. Much to the disapproval of his parents they married, in a courthouse wedding with state-provided witnesses. Before long Mary-Jo found she was pregnant, and both parents were overjoyed.</p><p>The happiness didn't last. Mark began to grow weak, but refused to see a doctor until it was far too late. Cancer, they were told. Too far for treatment. He had a year, maybe, if luck was on their side.</p><p>It was not. Mark Altman died before he got to meet his son.</p><p>There was nothing left for her in California. Love of her life dead, her parents gone, her in-laws despising her and blaming her for her husband's death, wanting nothing to do with the child – so she moved to New York City. People go to the West Coast for new beginnings, so it made sense to her to do the opposite. Go somewhere entirely new and strange. Meet new people. No education, no skills, no friends, only her late husband's life insurance money.</p><p>The sympathy. The affection. The support.</p><p>Every day the story of Mary-Jo Altman grows. The lies repeated and repeated until they may as well be the truth; until she half-believes the tale herself.</p><p>Every day, she disappears inside her skin.</p><p>(He is not her son.</p><p>He is for now).</p><p>There is only so long they can live like this – but who's going to stop them now?</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div><p>They are at the grocery store. She has a small notebook and pencil in which she is keeping track of the worth of their purchases. Her job is not particularly well-paying, but she's glad to have it (and even gladder that the last of Anelle's jewellery was sufficient to <i>buy</i> a place, so that she doesn't have to enter the hellish landscape of <i>renting</i>). They can get by. Especially with the gift of Zelda's old furniture – every day she realises how generous an offer it was, and how fortunate she and Teddy have been to receive it.</p><p>They are at the grocery store, and Teddy is having a tantrum.</p><p>Everyone's been telling her about the "terrible twos." <i>Oh, he won't be so well-behaved once he hits two!</i> and <i>oof, he's going to be a nightmare at two</i> and <i>two's the worst age – if you need any help, just let me know!</i> She had assumed they were exaggerating. There is nothing particularly noteworthy about turning two. Now, <i>three:</i><i>that's</i> a significant age, as it's at three a Skrull can begin to show their abilities, and gives a good indication of their future vocation. Two? Two is just an age. It's just a number.</p><p>Perhaps by raising His Royal Highness Emperor Dorrek VIII as an ostensibly human child she has doomed them both to this fate – because Teddy is <i>definitely</i> being a <i>terrible two-year-old.</i></p><p>He is having a tantrum at the grocery store.</p><p>He is having a tantrum because his mother, exhausted by his wheedling and whining, agreed to take a quick look at the toy aisle in the hopes this would calm him enough to sit patiently through the checkout process. He is having a tantrum because, front and centre in the toy aisle, in the midst of its own shrine, is a robot dinosaur.</p><p><b>Voice activated</b> reads the text on the box. <b>Watch T-Rexx<sup>TM</sup> crunch on his bone! His eyes change to show you his mood!</b></p><p>"I wan' it!" Teddy is screaming. "I wanna <i>dinosaur!</i>"</p><p>They are being looked at. With pity, but mostly with derision. She does not much like being the centre of attention. (She had to keep ducking out of her own workplace birthday party).</p><p>"You can't have the dinosaur, sweetie," Mary-Jo Altman says, as calmly as she can manage. "Dinosaur's a bit too expensive right now – but it will be your birthday soon."</p><p>It's not really a promise she can keep, but a child of Teddy's age is forgetful – and six months until his birthday isn't <i>exactly</i> "soon."</p><p>"Wannit!" Teddy cries. His face is blotchy and red and he's stamping his feet in their little sneakers. "Wanna <i>dinosaur!</i>"</p><p>She looks at the price. $64.99. That's twice as much as the worth of the groceries in her cart.</p><p>She gets down on her knees, because her books stress the importance of eye-to-eye contact. "You can't have the dinosaur right now," she says.</p><p>Teddy tilts his head back. "But I <i>wannit!</i>" he howls.</p><p>She puts her hands on his shoulders. "Teddy," she says, teeth gritted and struggling to sound calm, reasonable, soft, maternal. "I can't get you the dinosaur. It is not time for the dinosaur."</p><p>Teddy bawls. He utters something noisy and incomprehensible and <i>loud</i>.</p><p>There's an employee hovering every closer.</p><p>"I can't <i>get</i> you the dinosaur," Mary-Jo Altman says, "because if I get you the dinosaur I can't get you <i>food!</i>"</p><p>She doesn't mean to shout. She really, really doesn’t. She doesn't mean to raise her voice at all. Shouting, punishments, spanking – all to be avoided, as they're the things that can result in the sort of child that wears other humans' skin. <i>Positive</i> reinforcement is the correct path. Shouting is anathema. Shouting is being a <i>bad mother</i>.</p><p>Teddy goes quiet. She's never yelled at him before, never even been loud. She's normally so careful with her tone. Teddy's silent with shock and fear, his rage tears dry on his cheeks.</p><p>He sniffles. Looks at the floor.</p><p>She sighs, mutters, "Sorry," and gets to her feet. She walks to the checkout, Teddy following wordlessly at her heels.</p><p>He doesn't talk to her. Not when she carries the bags to the car, not when she buckles him into his seat, and not on the drive home. (Learning to drive had been a less complicated affair than feared: human cars have very few functions and controls when compared to Skrull ships. It's the keeping track of road signs that's more difficult). She looks back at him in the mirror and he's still looking sullenly at his hands.</p><p>He still doesn't talk to her when they get home, walking past her to his room. She lets him go as she unpacks their food. Her hands shake, and she ignores it.</p><p>She sits down in her armchair and covers her face with her hands.</p><p>She knew it wouldn't be <i>easy</i>, raising a child on her own, even under normal circumstances. Even if they were hiding out on a Skrull planet – she's not <i>used</i> to being the primary caregiver. Ordinarily her duties ended around the time the young royal learnt how to correctly use the bathroom and put on their shoes without help. Discipline, combat, warfare, and all that business fell to <i>others</i>.</p><p>The guilty truth: she doesn’t <i>want</i> Teddy to learn those things. How to listen, how to be kind, how to be generous, how to prioritise peace… the royal Skrull education does not cover these things.</p><p>Yet who is she to decide this for him? To teach him to be contrary to his nature? How much of this is out of a misguided belief that she knows what's best for him, and how much is it because she wants to suppress his natural Kree savagery?</p><p>She has no <i>right</i>.</p><p>Something gentle taps her knee. She lowers her hands to find Teddy standing before her, a solemn, determined expression on his face.</p><p>"Hey, sweetie," she says. "I'm sorry I yelled. I'm sorry I upset you."</p><p>"Come with," says Teddy, reaching for her hand.</p><p>He takes her to his bedroom. He's not the most adept at keeping it tidy, but he is also two years old. Right now it's one of the worst messes she's seen yet: it looks as if he's gone through every single one of his possessions, from his toys to his books. One pile is on his bed, and the other on the floor.</p><p>Teddy points at the floor mound. "These go," he says seriously. He points at the pile on the bed. "Keep these, please."</p><p>She doesn’t get it.</p><p>Teddy lets go of her hand and climbs up onto his bed. He's still sleeping in his crib at night, but with the sides lowered to give him some degree of freedom. He's going to need a Big Boy Bed soon, which is another expense she's trying not to think about.</p><p>"I love these," says Teddy, picking out of the toys on his bed the little doll with long blonde hair and her winged horse. "These are Teddy's but if Mommy needs money they," he waves at the pile on the floor, "go bye."</p><p>"Oh, <i>Teddy</i>," she says.</p><p>This time she gets down on her knees not because of any advice, but because her legs have gone weak and shaky.</p><p>Teddy carefully climbs back down off his bed, still holding She-Ra and Swift Wind in his fists, and toddles back to his mother. "Love Mommy," he says, wrapping his arms around her.</p><p>Swift Wind's horn is digging into her neck but she doesn't care, pulls Teddy into a hug and buries her face in his hair to breathe in the scent of him.</p><p>"I love you too, honey," she says. It's the only thing she never lies about.</p><p>She doesn't sell his toys, of course. She still buys him little presents when and where she can. Still – he never asks for anything like that dinosaur again.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div><p>It's normal for a Skrull child to experiment with their shapeshifting. It's the same principle as when a human child becomes fascinated with their own feet: an exploration of a so far unknown part of the body, an ability just discovered. This is typically encouraged in Skrull infants: it is an integral part of their lives, after all. One of the most important parts of Skrull education is teaching a child not just to copy a shape on the <i>surface</i>, but to truly <i>study</i> others. Learn how they talk, move, blink, sigh – study <i>every little detail</i> until they are <i>perfect</i> mimics, undistinguishable from the real thing. The day Princess Anelle had the palace in an uproar, searching for the missing princess under the watchful eye of Empress R'Klll, was one of the proudest of her life: when the princess, giggling, returned to her own shape at dinnertime, gleeful of the temporary chaos she had caused, the palpable panic melted quickly to admiration. The nursemaid hadn't thought she could ever be more pleased with one of her charges.</p><p>She knows it's cruel to tell Teddy not to. To stay in one shape. To make him lock away such a fundamental part of his nature. What else can she do? Human forms are static. They can <i>augment</i>: dying their hair, their skin, their nails, adding metalwork, and so on, but they can't really <i>change</i>. Not beyond the usual changing with age.</p><p>(It's so strange to be perceived to be this young again. Humans keep complimenting and lamenting her youth. <i>I'm older than all of you!</i> she does not say. Her apparent age is a good excuse for her naivety).</p><p>"You need to keep this a secret, okay?" Mary-Jo tells her son once he's old enough to understand full sentences. "No changing in front of anyone but me."</p><p>"Okay," Teddy says blithely. "Choccit now?"</p><p>He's growing fast, but not fast enough to draw attention. There are comments about how large he is, how confident he is on his feet, but thankfully nothing unusual. As long as he keeps his shapeshifting under control.</p><p>The Mommy Club, Plus Gary, have taken their kids to the park again. It's a too-warm day, though Mary-Jo isn't suffering as badly as her friends. She, at least, is able to shift her veins to cool her blood, while humans have to depend on hats and sunscreen and handheld electric fans that cost a dollar and break after a couple of hours. They're sharing chilled box wine, on the provision that Star sticks to grape juice and no one comments on her taking sips from Annette's glass of white.</p><p>The children are in the play area. Another human invention alien to Skrulls: the idea that play didn't <i>need</i> a grander purpose, and that there could be specialised areas for it.</p><p>Gary's daughter Willow comes over, climbs up onto the picnic bench and onto her father's lap. "Teddy's a Pikachu," she says, reaching for a juice box.</p><p>"Is he?" says Gary pleasantly, piercing the apple juice's foil with the pointed end of a straw before handing it to his daughter.</p><p>"He's got ears," Willow confirms.</p><p>Mary-Jo leaps to her feet so quickly she almost upsets her wine glass. She catches it just in time, righting it on the table before a drop is spilt.</p><p>"I forgot to put sunscreen on him," she explains to the surprised parents.</p><p>Annette hands her the SPF fifty and Mary-Jo takes off at a jog to the jungle gym. She finds Teddy sitting inside the hollow metal structure on ground level, surrounded by three or four other children. He does, indeed, have ears: high and thin and yellow, tipped with black. His cheeks sport two circular red spots.</p><p>"Pikachu!" he says, in a perfect imitation.</p><p>"Everyone <i>out</i>," Mary-Jo orders.</p><p>The other children are reluctant to leave, but she's learnt the stern parenting voice from Maria that has them filtering out. When it's just her and Teddy – he standing, her hunched double in this unsuitable space – she takes him by the shoulders and says, voice quick and hushed and shaking, "<i>Stop this</i>. Stop it <i>now</i>. What did I tell you? What did I <i>tell you</i> about keeping this secret? You can't <i>do</i> this in front of other people, Teddy!"</p><p>There's a look in her eyes she's never seen before – not directed at her, anyway. Hesitance. Worry. Fear.</p><p>"Pikachu," he repeats, now weak.</p><p>"You <i>have to keep this a secret</i>," she hisses. "They can't <i>know</i>. Do you know what they will do if they find out? They'll take you <i>away</i>, Teddy. They'll take you away <i>from me</i>."</p><p>Tears fill Teddy's eyes. "They liked it," he says. "I wanted friends."</p><p>"Friends <i>can't know about this</i>," she says. "Get rid of those ears. Go back to Teddy. Just a normal boy, with no special powers."</p><p>Downcast, defeated, he does so. The ears shrink back into his shaggy blond hair, his cheeks pale to normal human peach-pink. He's sniffling rather than fully crying. Every sound is a dagger in her heart.</p><p>(What right does she have? What <i>right</i> does she have to <i>make a prince cry?</i> She's just his servant. She exists to aid him, comfort him, care for him. Not to make him <i>cry</i>. She doesn’t have the authority. Who does she think she is?</p><p>His mother. That's who she thinks she is).</p><p>He doesn't return to the jungle gym. He sits on the grass near the picnic basket, picking at flowers and clovers, shoulders hunched. Her attention is half on him, to the point that she can barely follow her co-workers' conversation and makes an excuse to leave early. Teddy has a sore tummy, she says. Caught the sun. No wonder he's so miserable.</p><p>He doesn't talk as she gets him into his car seat, still holding tight to a daisy in his sweaty little hand. He won't look at her either. Just sniffs back tears and snot.</p><p>She gets in the front seat, hating that this is necessary, hating the situation, hating herself. How dare she? How <i>dare</i> she?</p><p>If he grows up to wear human skin it is all going to be her fault, and it will all trace back to this.</p><p>She looks into the mirror. He quickly averts his watery gaze.</p><p>"I'm sorry," she says. "I'm so sorry, Teddy. I shouldn't have shouted. I got scared. You're so, so special – you're the most special person in the world, you know. In <i>my</i> world. And I hate that we have to do this. I hate that no one else can see how special you are. But people… they don't always react best to people who are special. They're scared, a lot, and that makes them do nasty things."</p><p>Teddy's brow furrows. "Like Mewtwo?" he says after some moments.</p><p>She racks her brains to remember which one is Mewtwo.</p><p>Apparently able to sense her confusion, Teddy says, "They made Mewtwo to be strong and he was too strong so they hurt him and he got mad and made Nurse Joy wear a dress cos he's psychic and made clones and made Ash die but Pikachu was sad so Ash didn't die and Mewtwo made friends and went away."</p><p>"Yes," Mary-Jo says. "Yes, like Mewtwo."</p><p>Teddy's frown deepens. "Will I go in a tube?"</p><p>"No," Mary-Jo says fiercely. "Never. Not as long as I'm around."</p><p>She turns in her car seat, takes a gentle hold of his little ankle. "I love you so much, Teddy," she says. "So <i>much</i>. I won't let anything bad happen to you – I <i>promise</i>. But I need you to help. I'm sorry, honey, I'm sorry to ask this of you. It's not fair. But I need you to keep your powers secret. Don’t let other people know you can change, or fly, or how strong you are, or how quickly you heal. We have to keep this our secret."</p><p>Teddy wipes his snotty nose with the back of his hand. "Secret mission," he says. "Like Prince Adam?"</p><p>Relief. A reference she <i>does</i> know, because for some reason a terrible cartoon with awkward images and stilted dialogue is his favourite movie of all. "Yes," she says. "Yes, like Prince Adam. No one can know he's actually He-Man."</p><p>Teddy nods seriously. "Okay, Mommy. I can be Prince Adam."</p><p>She squeezes his ankle. "I know, sweetie. You're a good and brave boy."</p><p>She's about to turn back to face the steering wheel, start the car, begin the drive home – but she stops. Looks at his face, as he tries to scrub the tears from his chubby red-flushed cheeks.</p><p>"I love you," she says, and means it.</p><p>Teddy smiles. "I love you too, Mommy."</p><p>She smiles. Faces front. Turns the key, starts the car. Watches him tackle the stairs up to their apartment alone, on his insistence. He's a big boy, after all.</p><p>She sleeps on his floor again that night.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div><p>It's January fourth, and she's looking at the walls of their apartment. Their Christmas decorations are meagre, but it's incredible what can be done cheaply for Christmas. She and Teddy spent a few days making colourful paper rings, which she strung up across the top of the walls. Their Christmas tree is only small, but Teddy still loves sitting before it watching the blinking fairy lights. He took <i>great</i> pride in his creation of the paper angel to top the tree. Her smile is wonky and her eyes are pink. She thinks she's never loved an object the way she loves that angel.</p><p>She's looking at the walls. They are a bland beige, which she now knows to be the standard decoration for to-be sold real estate.</p><p>Teddy is sitting on the floor, narrating a very serious adventure in which She-Ra has come to the aid of some Vikings and Power Rangers to battle a giant Charmander, only for her to learn that the Charmander is a baby looking for its mommy. She-Ra has instead begun a quest to find said Mommy. This saga has, so far, lasted over a week.</p><p>"Teddy," says Mary-Jo.</p><p>He looks up. "Mommy?"</p><p>"What's your favourite colour?"</p><p>Teddy frowns. "I think," he says slowly, "green and purple and blue and red. And," he lowers his voice to a whisper, "pink."</p><p>"Right," Mary-Jo says.</p><p>"I like orange too!" Teddy adds. "And yellow, and brown. And purple. I like <i>lots</i> of colours."</p><p>"Do you think She-Ra and Charmander could take a small break while we go to the hardware store?"</p><p>Teddy's eyes are round. "What do we need?" he says. "What's broken?"</p><p>"Nothing's broken," Mary-Jo says. "The hardware store sells things that aren't for fixing, too. Like <i>paint</i>."</p><p>"Paint?" Teddy says. He stands up, eagerly going towards the chest his painting things are kept in. He's pulling out the old shirt of Mary-Jo's he uses as an apron before she can stop him.</p><p>"Not those kinds of paints," she says. "Paints for the <i>walls</i>."</p><p>Teddy looks as if the idea of painting a wall had never before occurred to him; he looks as if, now this idea <i>has</i> occurred to him, he likes it <i>very much</i>.</p><p>They don their shoes and jackets, and Mary-Jo drives them to the nearest hardware store, and she lets Teddy choose the paints. At first he's very shy and conservative, deciding between two tins of blue with all the weight of choosing a prisoner's sentence, but at Mary-Jo's prompting he loosens up a little. Yellow for the hallway, he decides, with some blue in the kitchen. Pink for Mary-Jo's room, because pink is a girl colour and she is a girl; a pale green for the bathroom, because the sea is green, even though it looks blue; the only time she nudges him towards anything is purple for his bedroom. He may not know he's a prince, but he could still have a little element of royalty in his chambers.</p><p>Teddy's almost bouncing by the time she pays, and is a chatterbox of anticipation when they return to the car, Mary-Jo pushing the cart containing their paint and rollers and brushes. "Will we paint today?" he asks, a little shadow at his mother's heels. "Where do we start?"</p><p>"We'll start with the bathroom," Mary-Jo says, "to practice, because if that goes a little bit wrong it's okay. We'll do your bedroom last, because by then we should be better at it."</p><p>"I'm excited," Teddy says earnestly.</p><p>Mary-Jo smiles. "I am too," she says. "Won’t it be nice to have a colourful home?"</p><p>"It wasn't expensive?" Teddy says.</p><p>She shakes her head. "No, it's fine. I got a Christmas bonus."</p><p>"I <i>love</i> Christmas," Teddy says. "I like it more than birthdays."</p><p>"I think I do too. Could you help me with the paints please?"</p><p>He lifts the tins into the trunk easier even than she can – she glances about to check no one's looking, but the few people in the parking lot are busy with their own purchases. Besides, she reasons, she can pass off his ability to lift one tin at a time. Children can show surprising feats of strength; she only needs to worry if he's carrying three or four or more. (Which he does try, and has to be gently dissuaded from).</p><p>Painting is a messy business, and takes them through to February. Her idea to start with the bathroom was a good one: it takes some practice to stir the colours correctly, to learn what a good amount is to load onto the roller, how best to apply the masking tape along the skirting board and ceiling and when to remove it. Teddy loves the whole business. She holds him up so he can paint the upper wall (he tried flying, and wasn't able to hold himself steady enough; soon he'll be too big to fly around their home). Teddy asks eagerly every day when she picks him up from Zelda's if today is a painting day, and looks crestfallen when his mother explains that she's too tired from her long day at work. "Maybe tomorrow," she promises.</p><p>It's <i>good</i> when they’re done. When the blank, bland walls are now covered in colours. It was tiring, and often frustrating, but they <i>did it</i>. She is, she decides, going to buy frames. She's going to take the art of Teddy's that won't fit on the fridge and <i>frame</i> it; she's going to buy weird art from thrift stores; she's going to learn to paint.</p><p>Teddy hugs her legs. "I <i>love</i> it," he says, voice full of wonder. "My room is purple!"</p><p>"It <i>is</i>," she says. "You deserve it, my little prince."</p><p>Teddy holds out his arms. He's getting too large to be picked up. She does it anyway.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div><p>Teddy is seven years old. He goes to St Edward's Episcopal Christian School, which has a name far grander than its admission process. She doesn't fully understand Earth religions but knows that a strong religious upbringing is important for a Skrull, and St Edward's doesn’t have an expensive school uniform she would have to buy, and is near enough, so St Edward's it is. Teddy seems to be enjoying it fine. He's so far been praised by every teacher he's had, with the only criticism that he doesn't speak up much in class and prefers to read than join in with his fellows' rowdy games.</p><p>Teddy is eating his cereal (plain corn flakes; the stuff with marshmallows is a weekend treat). The TV is on. It always is in the mornings – it's the easiest way for Mary-Jo to get the summary of world events she needs to participate in the morning gossip. Star is constantly fascinated with human celebrities, and Mary-Jo is the only one willing to patiently listen to Star's impassioned speeches.</p><p>The footage is of a protest. Anti-mutant sentiment has been high recently, flaring up because of the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters doing something or other. Mary-Jo doesn't really <i>get</i> why humans spend so much time tearing at each other in a universe filled with other threats. She supposes that if she were a regular <i>homo sapiens</i>, without any special powers, she might too feel insecure about mutants and superheroes – but as is, it seems like a lot of hot noise to her. What does it matter what the X-Men have done when the world is constantly under threat from outside forces?</p><p>"Mommy," Teddy says seriously. "Am I a mutant?"</p><p>She stops.</p><p>This is her chance.</p><p>"No," she should say. "No, Teddy, you are <i>not</i> a mutant, and should <i>never</i> feel ashamed of yourself the way mutants are made to. You are so much <i>more</i>. You have more nobility in your fingernail than most humans on this wretched rock have in their whole bodies. You are an heir of Skrull royalty. You are the son of the Kree's most celebrated hero. Your mother was the most beautiful Skrull princess to ever live. While these humans squabble amongst themselves on this stupid little planet you will rule the stars. You are Dorrek VIII. You are <i>perfect</i>."</p><p>What she says is, "Yes, honey. I'm sorry."</p><p>Teddy pokes his cereal flakes around the bowl. They’ve gone soggy.</p><p>"Do I have to go to Xavier School?" he says.</p><p>"<i>No</i>," says Mary-Jo Altman. She puts her hand on Teddy's wrist. "No, you don't. You're staying right here with me."</p><p>Teddy looks up at her, blue eyes huge with worry. "But don't mutants have to go there?"</p><p>"Not on my watch," says Mary-Jo. "We can discuss the possibility of you moving out when you turn thirty. You're stuck with me until then, mister."</p><p>Teddy giggles a little, and goes back to his cereal.</p><p>So much like his mother. (His <i>real</i> mother).</p><p>Someday he's going to find out about her lies. She doesn’t know how, or from whom, but the dread settles deep and inevitable in her stomach. He'll learn the truth, and learn who she is, and learn that his whole life she's spoon fed him lies. He'll learn the destiny she's been keeping from him.</p><p>She will be punished.</p><p>All lies burn in the end.</p><p>There is only so long they can live like this,</p><p>She'll have to tell him. That day will come.</p><p>Oh, but let it come tomorrow. Let it always come tomorrow.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><b>Content warning:</b> Depiction of toxic friendships, use of "gay" as a slur, passing implication of underage drinking, and procurement of an  unlicensed sci-fi firearm.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"I want to try out for the basketball team," Teddy says.</p>
<p>There's a stubborn jut to his jaw and a hardness in his eyes.</p>
<p>"Are you sure?" his mother says, hands tight around her coffee mug. (It was a Mother's Day present when Teddy was nine. It's covered in multi-coloured chameleons.)</p>
<p>Teddy nods. "I've been practicing all summer," he says. "I can play without being suspicious."</p>
<p>It's true: he's spent almost every free moment since March playing ball, either with the small hoop attached to the back of his door or out in the building's parking lot. She hadn't realised he had any intentions behind it. She thought he'd just remembered <i>High School Musical</i>.</p>
<p>"I'm not saying you can't," Mary-Jo says carefully. "I'm just… asking you to think about it, is all."</p>
<p>He frowns, growing more stubborn. "I <i>have</i>," he says.</p>
<p>She wants to ask if this is why he asked to transfer to a mainstream, non-religious high school for his last four years of education, instead of continuing at Holy Trinity, the Catholic-Episcopal Christian school St Edward's had been a feeder for. She wants to ask how long he's had this plan. She wants to ask how long he's been keeping this from her.</p>
<p>"If it's what you want," Mary-Jo says, and does her best to keep the sigh of disappointment out of her voice. "Just… be careful. That's all."</p>
<p>Teddy smiles. It's small and tight and doesn't ease his mother's heart at all. "I will," he says.</p>
<p>Mary-Jo sips her coffee. "When are try-outs, then?" she asks. "Maybe I can come watch."</p>
<p>"Today," Teddy says. She doesn't miss the flicker of guilt in his eyes. She doesn't miss how that makes her oddly pleased. "After school."</p>
<p>"Oh," she says. "That's a shame. Let me know in advance when games are, okay?" She reaches over and ruffles his hair. "Let me cheer on my little prince."</p>
<p>"<i>Mom</i>," Teddy says, with the fake annoyance and red cheeks required by a teenage boy when receiving affection from a parent.</p>
<p>Mary-Jo downs the last of her morning coffee. "Do you need a ride?" she says. "Marv's opening today, so I can drop you off if you like."</p>
<p>Teddy shakes his head, reaching for his backpack. "That's okay," he says.</p>
<p>Someday he'll want her to give him rides again, and drop him off at the gates, and give him goodbye hugs and kisses. That someday is not today, though she has high hopes for college.</p>
<p>"Okay," she says. "I've got a viewing over in Westchester so I might be back late, depends if the Collinses actually <i>keep</i> to their appointment time today. There's TV dinners in the freezer, or I can give you some money for take out."</p>
<p>"The frozen stuff will be fine," says Teddy. "Thanks."</p>
<p>She pauses in the hallway, looking him up and down. She wipes at his shoulders not because there's anything on them, but because she just wants the excuse to touch him.</p>
<p>"Mom," Teddy sighs.</p>
<p>"I know," she says. "It's just… You're so grown-up." It's gone by so <i>quickly</i>. It feels like yesterday, and a lifetime ago, she was sleeping on his floor and carrying him in her arms every opportunity she had. "Where did the time go?"</p>
<p>Teddy's face scrunches in embarrassment. He accepts her kiss on his cheek, though.</p>
<p>"Knock 'em dead," Mary-Jo says. "Get a homerun. Touchdown."</p>
<p>"That's football," Teddy says, and they both know she already knows that.</p>
<p>"What do I say for basketball?"</p>
<p>"Nothing but net."</p>
<p>"Nothing but net," she repeats. "Have a great day, Teddy. I love you."</p>
<p>Teddy sighs again. "I know. I love you too, Mom."</p>

<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div><p>He makes the team.</p>
<p>She tries to smile.</p>

<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div><p>"Isn't it a good thing?" says Zelda. "You've always worried about him making friends."</p>
<p>Mary-Jo holds her coffee mug in both hands. Teddy's at basketball practice again. It's a new routine, to get home and find he's not there. She'd panicked the first time she returned to an empty apartment, until she'd checked the calendar and saw his neat handwritten note. She has an open invitation to Zelda's anytime, and was greeted with customary cheer at the suggestion of visiting while Teddy's busy. (She knows she's neglected this friendship. It's another guilt to drown in).</p>
<p>"I know it <i>should</i> be," Mary-Jo says carefully. "It's just…"</p>
<p>She <i>just</i> doesn't like it. Worries. Fears. Dreads. Misses.</p>
<p>Zelda nods. "It's hard, isn't it?"</p>
<p>Mary-Jo puts her face in her hands.</p>
<p>"I'm going to sound stupid," she says, voice muffled.</p>
<p>"No you won’t," Zelda says brightly.</p>
<p>Mary-Jo takes a deep breath. "I feel," she says.</p>
<p>It's been growing for years, this. Every year, watching Teddy.</p>
<p>"I feel like I'm standing on the shore and I'm watching him drift away and I <i>should</i> be happy and proud because he's growing up and the whole point of being a good mother is to let them go but all I really want is for him to come back to me."</p>
<p>"Oh, dear," says Zelda. "I'd bet money that every mother in the world knows that feeling."</p>
<p>Mary-Jo looks into her coffee. (Lots of milk, but no sugar. Cappuccinos are her favourite).</p>
<p>Princess Anelle putting Dorrek in her arms. Anelle's hand on the glass. Her eyes looking into her nursemaid's. Did her heart hurt with hope? Or was it full of fear and resignation? Rage, that her son would be raised by another? Sorrow at this greatest loss?</p>
<p>Watching the escape pod jettison, sending them to a faraway, unknown future.</p>
<p>She had no idea when she would ever see her son again.</p>
<p>She never did.</p>
<p>Zelda rubs Mary-Jo's lower arm. It hurts a little, because Zelda wears her own body weight in jewellery at all times, but the gesture is still appreciated.</p>
<p>"You can cry if you need to," Zelda says gently.</p>
<p>She doesn't <i>want</i> to.</p>
<p>"I didn't know it would be this <i>hard</i>," Mary-Jo says, voice cracking.</p>
<p>"Awful, isn't it?" says Zelda. "Teenage years are always the hardest. I always thought, try to look at it from <i>their</i> point of view. All those hormones! And they've never known any of this before. My Dad, may his memory be a blessing, always used to say to be patient with young people. It's their first time for all of it! First heartbreak, first exam stress, and everything. So sometimes they <i>do</i> pull away from their parents, because they’re trying so hard to be new and independent, and all you can really do is wait. Wait for them to understand.</p>
<p>"He'll come back to you," Zelda finishes tenderly.</p>
<p>Mary-Jo wipes her eyes. Her mascara must be a mess.</p>
<p>"He's a good boy, your Teddy," Zelda continues. "He's got a good head and a good heart. He'll figure himself out."</p>
<p>"He's <i>gentle</i>," Mary-Jo says. "That's not really a good thing in sports, is it?"</p>
<p>"Depends on the sport," says Zelda. "Football, no. Dressage, probably."</p>
<p>Mary-Jo snorts. "I don’t think they have a dressage team."</p>
<p>"That's a shame. He loved horses when he was small."</p>
<p>Mary-Jo sips her coffee.</p>
<p>"Thanks, Zelda," she says.</p>
<p>"Any time, dear. And you never know! Fresh air and exercise and friends. Maybe this will be good. Maybe this is what he <i>needs</i>."</p>
<p>Mary-Jo wrinkles her nose.</p>
<p>It <i>is</i> true that she's worried about Teddy's lack of friends, ever since it was mentioned at his first parent-teacher conference. Teddy's been called shy, and reserved, and thoughtful, and every other euphemism for "lonely" a teacher has at their disposal. Keeps himself to himself. Prefers to read during recess. Isn't rowdy. Is well-behaved.</p>
<p>He's never been to summer camp. Never been a Boy Scout. They didn't have the money when he was young. Now they have the money, he doesn’t have the inclination.</p>
<p>She tried her best. Tried to take him on a vacation every summer, even if it was usually just camping out of state for a weekend. Took him to museums, tourist traps, sites of historic interest. Took an interest in <i>his</i> interests, no matter how tiring searching thrift stores and garage sales for old Transformers and action figures and plastic horses got. Read to him, and read with him. Watched his favourite movies no matter how bad they were, and how degraded the tape of <i>He-Man and She-Ra: The Secret of the Sword</i> had become.</p>
<p>She'd hoped it was enough.</p>
<p>She'd hoped <i>she</i> was enough.</p>
<p>"Would you prefer if it was something else?" says Zelda. "Theatre? Music?"</p>
<p><i>No</i>, is the answer she wants to say and knows she shouldn't. <i>No, not only because of how long he has to spend away from me, but because of the attention. What happens if Teddy's a star? When his brilliance is noticed? He'll be photographed. He'll be</i> known. <i>He'll be noticed. I'm the only one who knows the truth of his identity –</i></p>
<p><i>But what if I'm</i> not?</p>
<p>"I just want him to be happy," she says – and she has been lying so long that even she can't detect it any more.</p>

<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div><p>The first time she meets Teddy's new friends…</p>
<p>Well.</p>
<p>She can hear them as she nears their apartment's door. Four voices other than Teddy's. All male, full of bravado and swagger.</p>
<p>"I didn't think people still even had VHS tapes," says one of them.</p>
<p>"They still work," Teddy says.</p>
<p>"Dude, there is so much gay shit here," says another. "<i>Mamma Mia?</i>"</p>
<p>"It's my Mom's favourite," Teddy says, defensive.</p>
<p>"<i>Why</i> do you have three different <i>Care Bears</i> tapes?"</p>
<p>"Our neighbour gave them to us when I was a kid."</p>
<p>Laughter. "Then get <i>rid</i> of them, doofus."</p>
<p>She pushes her key into the door with more force than necessary. What good mood she had previously been holding (three sales today, including a penthouse) has been swallowed up by these boys. These <i>children</i>.</p>
<p>"Oh shit, that your Mom?" says the first speaker.</p>
<p>"Yeah," Teddy says.</p>
<p>There's silence when she enters. As she takes off her coat. Puts her handbag on the kitchen table.</p>
<p>Four boys, and Teddy. One with black hair, standing next to the video shelf, broad shoulders and small eyes. Dark brown hair, still with his shoes on, sitting on the arm of the couch, even though there's plenty of room on the seats proper. A white boy with dreadlocks cross-legged on the floor. Another, pale brown hair, sitting on her chair (<i>her</i> chair), watching her.</p>
<p>They all smell of testosterone and body spray and not enough of soap.</p>
<p>Teddy – oh, <i>Teddy</i>. He's on the couch. There's tension in every inch of him. His smile is small and nervous and insincere.</p>
<p>She <i>hates</i> these boys.</p>
<p>She hates their casual confidence, their <i>ownership</i> of <i>her</i> home.</p>
<p>She hates their artificially deepened voices.</p>
<p>She hates their hungry eyes on her.</p>
<p>"Hi, Mom," Teddy says. "How was work?"</p>
<p>"Good," she says, voice neutral. "How was school?"</p>
<p>"It was okay," Teddy says. "These are my friends! From the basketball team. This, um. This is Greg, our captain."</p>
<p>The one in her chair nods at her. She wants to laugh. Nods at her as if they're <i>equals</i>. As if he is acknowledging a newcomer at the political table who has yet to incur his wrath or prove themselves ally. As if he has any right to her home! As if she didn't have the strength to snap his stupid little neck if she wanted to.</p>
<p>"Damien," Teddy says, pointing to the black-haired boy. Damien won't look at her, apparently entranced in her collection of Hugh Grant movies, but mumbles a hello. "That's Tyler," the boy with shoes <i>indoors</i>, even though the others have all taken theirs off, "and Spence," the boy on the floor, smelling faintly herbal.</p>
<p>"Hi," says Spence. "I like your carpet."</p>
<p>"Thank you," she says. Then, because she's read the books and watched the movies, says, "Do you boys want anything? Drinks?"</p>
<p>"We're okay, thanks," says Teddy, before the others have a chance to answer.</p>
<p>"Right," she says. "You know where I am if you need me."</p>
<p>She goes to her bedroom. Closes the door behind her.</p>
<p>"Dude," says Damien. "You never told us your Mom was <i>hot</i>."</p>
<p>"What?" says Teddy. "She's my <i>Mom</i>."</p>
<p>"Yeah, but she's a hot mom," says Damien. "How old is she?"</p>
<p>"He's kinda right," says Spence.</p>
<p>"Should I take my shoes off?" says Tyler. "I feel like she's mad about my shoes."</p>
<p>"She's not mad," Teddy says (lies).</p>
<p>"Seriously," says Damien, "how old is she?"</p>
<p>"Knock it off," says Greg, and she realises that she had not yet heard him speak. "Tyler, take your damn shoes off. Damien, stop being disgusting. She's Teddy's <i>Mom</i>."</p>
<p>They go quiet when Greg talks. The Captain. He talks as if he's king of this small nation, and damn these other children, they <i>listen</i> as if he is.</p>
<p>"Right," Damien mumbles. "Sorry."</p>
<p>"I'm thirsty," says Greg. "T-man, what have you got?"</p>
<p>She assumes he means Tyler, but then <i>Teddy</i> answers. What kind of nickname is T-man? He's not a T-man. He's <i>Teddy</i>.</p>
<p>"There's, uh, coke? Water. Obviously. Um. Pink lemonade, I think?"</p>
<p>Damien snorts. "Gay."</p>
<p>"Coke, thanks," says Greg.</p>
<p>She steps away from her door to sit on her bed.</p>
<p>This is <i>her</i> home – <i>their</i> home, and Teddy is letting these invaders all over it.</p>
<p>She doesn't know if she wants to fight or scream. Perhaps both.</p>
<p>What right do these boys have? These <i>children</i>. Making <i>Teddy</i> be subservient. Acting as if they're better, as if they have any right to boss Teddy around. Teddy is a <i>prince</i>. Teddy is a monarch of galaxies. How <i>dare</i> they make Teddy get them drinks? How <i>dare</i> they make Teddy doubt himself? How dare they make him deepen his own voice to blend in with them, to laugh at their horrible teasing, to defend his childhood taste in movies? How dare they make him feel anything other than perfect?</p>
<p>They have no idea who he is.</p>
<p>Well, she reflects, neither does he.</p>
<p>(He is not her son).</p>
<p>She changes out of her sensible blue work suit. Dons her casual at home sweats and t-shirt. Sits on her bed and reads, though she finds herself paying less attention to the words on the page and more to the ones spoken by Teddy's teammates. Damien continues to critique their VHS tapes, their CDs, their DVDs, until Greg again raises his voice. They discuss school, and girls, and basketball; music, and other students, and girls again.</p>
<p>If she didn't know it was Teddy out there, she wouldn't have been able to guess. He sounds so <i>different</i>. So… loutish. So unlike Teddy.</p>
<p>After about an hour there's a gentle knock on her door. Teddy opens it, looking sheepish.</p>
<p>"Hey," he says. "Um. Sorry, Mom. The guys are getting kind of hungry?"</p>
<p>She looks at him over her book. "Okay," she says.</p>
<p>A stretch of silence.</p>
<p>She sighs. "Teddy, I don't have enough food in to feed all five of you," she says. "I need forewarning if you want to have a dinner party."</p>
<p>"It's not a – okay. Cool. Fine. I'll tell them."</p>
<p>He's grumpy again. Why does she keep making him angry? It was so much easier when she could distract him with her keys.</p>
<p>She hears Teddy explain to his friends. Greg is the one to suggest they go, who tells Teddy that there's no hard feelings, that it was cool to hang out at his home. Teddy's so eager to accept that praise. He bids them goodbye at the door, and only once she's heard them exit the apartment that she leaves her room.</p>
<p>"I was going to make stir-fry," she says. "Is that cool with you? We've got sweet and sour, chow mein, or peanut, so just pick whatever you want from the cupboard."</p>
<p>She gets out her chopping board and knives, the ingredients from the fridge, the wok. She loves her wok. She'd bought it with her Christmas bonus a few years ago. You can't go wrong with a good, well-made wok.</p>
<p>She hears Teddy go to the sauce cupboard, pick out a sachet, place it at her elbow.</p>
<p>"What did you think?" Teddy asks. Nervous. Already knowing the answer, but wanting to be wrong. "Of my friends, I mean. Sorry about Damien. He's kind of a jerk."</p>
<p>She cuts a slice off the chicken breast with more force than necessary. "If he's a jerk," she says, voice as calm and even as possible, "why are you friends with him?"</p>
<p>"He's not <i>always</i> a jerk," Teddy says. "He's okay. He's nice, when you get to know him."</p>
<p>"Hmm," she says.</p>
<p>It's the wrong thing to say. She knows it, and she does it anyway. It was wrong and cruel and she's being unreasonable. A good mother would be happy for Teddy. A good mother wouldn't be fixating on the way Greg sat in her chair, surveying, <i>judging</i>, as if he has <i>any idea</i> of the circumstances that led to their second-hand furniture, about why they would keep the VHS player long after everyone else has ditched that technology. (Because VHS tapes were <i>cheap</i> when Teddy was small and they didn't have much money, thrift stores were desperate to get rid of them, you could get ten for a dollar, and now that Blu-rays are inching out DVDs she can get those, but some of those tapes are hard to replace, and there's something so much homier about <i>When Harry Met Sally</i> on VHS).</p>
<p>"They're my <i>friends</i>, Mom," Teddy says. There's that hardness in his voice again. He really is so much like Anelle.</p>
<p>She pours sesame oil in the wok and turns the hob on. "I just think," she says, "that you could do better."</p>
<p>Teddy doesn't speak. He makes a <i>noise</i>, something frustrated and upset and choked back, and when she looks up he's gone, the door to his bedroom closed. He doesn’t slam it, because even at his angriest he is still a good kid, and he doesn't shout <i>you don't understand me!</i> because he's not a stereotype, but the closed door makes a loud enough statement on its own. He almost never closes his door.</p>
<p>She swallows. Dinner won't make itself.</p>

<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div><p>It only gets worse from there.</p>
<p>Teddy doesn't bring his teammates to the apartment again. She sees them sometimes on the steps of the building, but never beyond the front door. She doesn't know where they hang out outside of school, and Teddy doesn't tell her. At first he calls when he won't be home until dinner, and then when he'll be eating with his friends and won't be home until late, and then he only texts.</p>
<p>There is an ocean between them, and she cannot swim.</p>
<p>He comes home smelling of sweat and fire and alcohol. She doesn't ask, and he evades the questions she doesn't voice. He smiles – at least, he tries to. She used to think that was his forced smile but maybe she's been reading him wrong. Maybe she doesn't know him at all.</p>
<p>She goes to a couple of his games. Cheers him on. He is brilliant – of course he is, he's <i>Teddy</i>. He plays well, as unselfish and generous on the basketball court as he is in every other area of his life. He celebrates communal victories, commiserates communal losses. He looks good in his uniform. He looks tall. He looks so grown-up.</p>
<p>Sometimes it's hard to get the time off, though, and Teddy says he doesn't mind. He never wants a ride home after the game anyway. Coach always has somewhere for him to be, be it a meeting about the tactics for the next game or a victory party.</p>
<p>He comes home smelling like Captain Greg Norris' Axe body spray.</p>
<p>There is a chasm between them, and she cannot fly.</p>
<p>He always has his phone in his hand, checking it obsessively. She thinks about adding him on Facebook, just to keep an eye on him, see what pictures he's being tagged in. If he's in a relationship. What his friends write on his wall. She doesn't, because she knows it would break her heart if he rejected the invitation.</p>
<p>He comes home and he doesn't smell like Teddy. Doesn't sound like Teddy. Doesn't dress like Teddy. Doesn't laugh at the jokes Teddy used to, doesn't want to watch the movies or TV shows Teddy used to love. He doesn't make sure he's home in time for <i>Doctor Who</i>. He doesn't even ask her to record it.</p>
<p>She is losing him and she never had a right to him in the first place.</p>
<p>There are galaxies between them, and he rules the stars, and she is dust in his wake.</p>

<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div><p>"I miss him," she says, over her third glass of rosé. "Is that weird? I <i>miss</i> him."</p>
<p>"Teenagers," says Star. "They're the <i>worst</i>."</p>
<p>"<i>Being</i> a teenager was the worst," Maria corrects. "Everything was so much, and no one understood you, and you had so many <i>feelings</i> all the time."</p>
<p>Yasmin nods. "And being horny," she says. "Don't forget. <i>Super</i> horny."</p>
<p>"Horny's a feeling," Maria says, clinking her glass with Yasmin's.</p>
<p>Yasmin rubs Mary-Jo's upper back. "It's okay," she says soothingly. "This happens. He's just got stuff to work out."</p>
<p>"Just as long as he doesn't get anyone pregnant," says Star.</p>
<p>"That is important," Maria says. "No pregnancy."</p>
<p>Mary-Jo has had a lot more time for after-work drinks since Teddy joined the basketball team. He's staying out late, so why shouldn't she? It is nice, to go out with The Girls. To drink wine, be "naughty" and eat food with high calories, to gossip and laugh and revel in the mundanity of it.</p>
<p>"Think of it this way," Maria says. "You've given, what, fifteen years of your life to him? How old were you when you had him?"</p>
<p>"Twenty-two," Mary-Jo says. According to the dates on her driver's license, anyway.</p>
<p>"See?" says Star. "Now it's <i>your</i> turn to live a little."</p>
<p>Yasmin pokes Mary-Jo's upper arm. "Come to pottery with me!" she says. "Wine and pottery. It's great, there's free alcohol and no one cares if your stuff's bad. Come with me," she repeats, voice trailing off into a whiny plea. "The instructor looks like Colin Firth!"</p>
<p>Mary-Jo perks up a little. "I do like Colin Firth," she says thoughtfully.</p>
<p>"Colin Firth now or 90s Colin Firth?" says Star.</p>
<p>"Like an American Colin Firth?" Yasmin says. "Just trust me, he does, you'll get it when you see him."</p>
<p>Mary-Jo swills her glass, absently watching the overhead lights glitter in her wine. "Where and when is it?" she asks.</p>
<p>"Same place as Pilates," says Yasmin. "Thursdays at eight."</p>
<p>Mary-Jo slams back the last of her drink. Maria cheers. "Screw it!" she says, though she rarely swears. (Humans are so <i>loose</i> with their language. Profanities <i>mean</i> something to the Skrull, but some humans use them like extra grammar). "Why not. Let's do some <i>pottery</i>."</p>
<p>"<i>Yes!</i>" cries Yasmin, wrapping an arm around Mary-Jo's shoulders and kissing her cheek. "And then the next step is to find you a man."</p>
<p>"Or woman," Star says.</p>
<p>"We don't discriminate," Maria says.</p>
<p>Mary-Jo smiles, and rests her head for a moment against Yasmin's. "You guys are the best," she says.</p>
<p>"What are friends for?" says Star.</p>

<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div><p>She's fixing her mascara in the hallway mirror.</p>
<p>"Hey, Mom?" Teddy says. "Can I ask you something?"</p>
<p>She schools her expression neutral and unassuming. "Of course, sweetie."</p>
<p>(<i>If I'm a mutant, why can I shapeshift and heal faster and also have super strength? Normally it's only one or two? And it kicked in so</i> early <i>too. Why aren't there any pictures of you or Dad? I've been looking into our family tree for a school project, and I can't find anything about Mark Altman – I can't find anything about Mary-Jo Smith at Sunnyvale High in California. Where's Dad buried? Why haven't we ever visited? I know you said my grandparents hate you, but why haven't they tried to contact me at all? Can I contact them? Who</i> are <i>you, Mom?</i>)</p>
<p>"Why do… why do <i>I</i> have the bigger bedroom?"</p>
<p>She relaxes.</p>
<p>"Well," she says, "we shared it, at first. We didn't have much with us when we moved, and you were very young – it’s better for a baby to share a room with their parents when they're small. They sleep better, and it's theorised that it can even prevent cot death."</p>
<p>"Okay," says Teddy, not sounding wholly convinced.</p>
<p>"And then Zelda gave us her brother's things, and, well – babies have so <i>much</i> stuff. It just seemed easier to leave you in there than do all that rearranging."</p>
<p>"Okay," says Teddy.</p>
<p>She smiles brightly. "Is that all?"</p>
<p>"I… yeah. I guess it is."</p>
<p>"We can swap if you want," she says. "Heaven knows it won't take me long to fill up that extra closet space with shoes…"</p>
<p>"Do you want to?"</p>
<p>She refocuses on applying her makeup. "No," she says. "I like my room. Why? Is something bothering you?"</p>
<p>"No," Teddy says. "No, just… Was curious about why I have the big room. That's all. Thanks, Mom."</p>
<p>"Anytime, sweetie."</p>

<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div><p>Teddy makes the team the next year, too.</p>
<p>He says it almost apologetically.</p>
<p>"You can tell me anything, you know?" she says.</p>
<p>He smiles like he's trying to mean it. "I know," he says.</p>

<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div><p>The day Skrull ships fill the sky she's at an open house in Manhattan. She steps out into the spacious garden (natural, room for development, perfect for a family) with her small group of visitors, looks up at the armada blocking the clouds, and says, "Well, <i>that's</i> not good."</p>
<p>She doesn't yet know that this is a day of infamy. The day the Scarlet Witch showcases the Avengers' greatest failures before their eyes, and ensues to lose what fragile grip on her mind she had.</p>
<p>She doesn't know that this is a day of history. The day the Avengers take stock of the cost of their existence, and decide to disband.</p>
<p>She doesn't know that this is a day of destiny. The day that puts in motion the wheels of Teddy Altman's fate; the day that begins his journey to his throne, and his sword, and his crown. The day that leads to the birth of Emperor Dorrek-Vell, Wielder of Excelsior the Star-Sword, Beloved of the Demiurge, King of Space.</p>
<p>She knows this as the day that she and Marv had to calm a panicked group of twenty potential buyers in a three-bed in Manhattan (two bathrooms, ideal for a growing family, great starter home), and blockade the door, and hunker down in place while they wait either for the Skrulls to rain death down upon them or for the Avengers to rescue them.</p>
<p>It's not a great day, all told.</p>
<p>Teddy is at least safe, she learns, though she would much prefer to be at his side to confirm that. He says they're all being kept in the gym until the staff know it's safe. He goes quiet for twenty minutes, and they're the worst twenty minutes of her life, but the next text is an apology for the silence: he was distracted helping some freshmen. Some kids are having panic attacks, he explains, and because he's relatively well-known due to being on the basketball team the staff have asked him to help out.</p>
<p>He's so <i>good</i>.</p>
<p>She doesn’t call him, but does wrap him in the tightest hug she can when they're both back in the apartment.</p>
<p>"I'm okay," Teddy says, but he's clinging back just as hard, head turned into her shoulder. "I'm okay, Mom. Promise."</p>
<p>"I know," she says, and doesn't let go. "I know."</p>
<p>What has she been <i>doing?</i> Wasting her time with wine and pottery and self-pity. She's here for <i>Teddy</i>. She's here to raise him, and protect him, and shield him, and love him. So what that she doesn't like his friends? That's not important. <i>Her feelings</i> aren't important. Wallowing in misery about his maturing enough to leave her – of <i>course</i> he has been! That's the <i>point</i> of raising a child! Whether he becomes king of empires or just a white-collar worker here on Earth, his destiny <i>is</i> to move on. To find his own future. To – to use a favoured Earth metaphor – spread his wings and leave the nest. What an <i>idiot</i> she has been to resent that! How <i>unforgiveable</i> her selfishness, and the toll it has taken on him!</p>
<p>"You're safe," she says softly. "I've got you."</p>
<p>He shakes. She holds him, and decides.</p>

<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div><p>Worrying, really, how easy it is to get a gun – even an alien one.</p>
<p>They don't meet in a sketchy alley or anything equally suspicious, but at a Starbucks. She nurses her cappuccino as she waits for her contact to arrive, paperback copy of <i>Dune</i> at her side. The book has an envelope placed in it as a bookmark, and inside that envelope is her payment.</p>
<p>She's surprised that she recognises the man who sits opposite her, and tries to remember what house she sold him – until he raises his eyebrows at her, and she realises.</p>
<p>"Long time no see," she says. "You seem to have settled in well."</p>
<p>"So have you," he says.</p>
<p>The other Skrull she travelled with, that lifetime ago, on that cramped and smelly smugglers' ship. She hadn't thought she'd ever see him again, if she'd ever thought about him at all. He's wearing different glasses now, thin and chic, and he's dressed in fashionable jeans with a vintage jacket. Landed on his feet, one might say.</p>
<p>"I'm surprised," he says, "that it's <i>you</i> making this request."</p>
<p>She sips her cappuccino. "Needs must," she says.</p>
<p>He nudges a plastic bag to her side of the table. She doesn’t look up, but hooks it with her ankle and pulls it next to the rest of her shopping. She's surprising Teddy with some new sneakers. (About time, really, that she celebrated his sporting achievements). There is a reassuring heaviness to the new bag, and with her foot she can feel that it's about the right shape.</p>
<p>"What kind of needs does a woman like <i>you</i> have?" he says.</p>
<p>She doesn't answer.</p>
<p>He leans an elbow on the table, next to <i>Dune</i>. "I always wondered," he says, conspiratorial and quiet, "how a humble refugee mother came to be in possession of quite such <i>impressive</i> jewellery."</p>
<p>She shoots him a look. He continues undeterred.</p>
<p>"And so possessive of that child."</p>
<p>"He's my <i>son</i>," she snaps. "Unless you have children, you won't understand."</p>
<p>He raises his hands in a show of submission. "I meant no offence," he says. "I hope he's well."</p>
<p>She loosens her grip on her cup.</p>
<p>"I've heard…" he says. He eyes her – not the way Teddy's friends do, not the way men at poorly-lit bars do. It's suspicious and calculating but oddly… <i>reverent</i>.</p>
<p>"There are rumours," he says, voice barely above a whisper, almost certainly inaudible to any human in this noisy coffee shop, "that not all was lost to Galactus. That… that there was a child. That someone <i>survived</i>."</p>
<p>Her face remains impassive.</p>
<p>"I only want to help, Your Highness," he finishes.</p>
<p>She stands, leaving her coffee half-finished, picking up her bags as regally as she can. "Then tell no one," she says. "Forget what you know. Our future needs your secrecy."</p>
<p>He bows his head. "Yes, Your Highness," he says.</p>
<p>She leaves, head high, shoulders square, walking with grace and urgency. Keeping the panic from the surface.</p>
<p>It's a little heartening, to be right; to learn her years of paranoia had a point. It's also <i>devastating</i>.</p>
<p>Who knew? <i>Who else knew?</i> Mar-Vell is dead, Anelle is gone. Were it the Emperor both she and Teddy would be dead already. Not a member of the royal family, then, surely? The existence of the half-breed child would be a blight on the family line, and Skrulls do not deal well with blights. Not someone who would seek vengeance, then – that, at least, narrows the scope.</p>
<p>There is a name at the front of her mind, and she does not want to think it.</p>
<p>"Wait!"</p>
<p>She stops, turns. The other Skrull is approaching, <i>Dune</i> in hand.</p>
<p>"You forgot your book," he says, and pushes it into her arms.</p>
<p>"Thank you," she says.</p>
<p>"Glory to you, Empress Anelle," he whispers – and then he is gone, with one last longing glance in her direction. As if he is drinking in the sight of hope itself.</p>
<p>She swallows. "Yes," she says.</p>
<p>The money's still in the envelope, she finds, when she makes it back to the apartment. She decides to put it in Teddy's college fund.</p>
<p>She cries a little that night, muffling the noise into her pillow so as not to alarm Teddy.</p>

<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div><p>She is living on numbered days.</p>
<p>She needs to tell him, she thinks. She <i>needs</i> to tell him. What will he do if the Skrulls come down for real? What will <i>she</i> do? Yes, she knew Anelle well, but she balks at the idea of stealing the other woman's identity. It feels… <i>wrong</i>. Sacrilegious. A further indignity heaped on Anelle's grave. (If, indeed, Anelle has one.)</p>
<p>She sits before her mirror, trying to convince herself to try Anelle's shape. She can't. She <i>can't</i>.</p>
<p>She meets her eyes.</p>
<p>She has wrinkles, she realises. Crows' feet at the corners of her eyes. Laugh lines on her cheeks. Faint, but growing in. She keeps finding wisps of white in her hair, too.</p>
<p>How long has it been?</p>
<p>How long since she was her natural Skrull self?</p>
<p>She tries it, only because she knows that Teddy is at basketball practice and won't be home for some hours more. Her skin darkens to green, grows scaly; her chin hardens and furrows; her teeth grow sharp.</p>
<p>She looks in the mirror, and does not recognise herself.</p>
<p>There are stories told to Skrull children. Cautionary tales about the importance of knowing oneself, horror stories of spies who spent too long in one shape and forgot themselves, tragedies of the mentally weak who convince themselves they are who they are pretending to be. Never believe your own lies. Know in your heart who you are. Behave honourably always. Glory be to the Emperor.</p>
<p>She shifts back, until it is Mary-Jo Altman in the mirror. (Until she is herself again). Late thirties. White, blonde, blue-eyed. Not the prettiest, not the smartest, but tries to be nice. Single mother. Loves her son. Loves chameleons, and ABBA, and British rom-coms, and white wine.</p>
<p>She has to tell him. She <i>has</i> to. What hope would he have fighting an enemy when he doesn't even know who <i>he</i> is? Would he even have time to ask why before the Skrull assassin killed him, putting down the last mistake of the Royal Family?</p>
<p>Maybe it's not too late. Maybe… maybe she could try to go to the Avengers again. Petition them, as she had once intended to. Appeal to their love for Mar-Vell, to their loyalty to Earth; to the Fantastic Four's guilt in their role in allowing Galactus to destroy the Skrull Throneworld. Between their combined might they might be able to fight off the first few attacks.</p>
<p>The Avengers are no more. Useless, then, to beg their help. They wouldn’t reunite for an alien boy, no matter how dearly they cared for his father.</p>
<p>No – it's just her. It has always been just her. One nanny, shielding a child she has no right to, begging him to forgive her for the lies she raised him on. Begging him to think of her kindly. Keeping from him the truth of his parentage as if peaceful mediocrity is better than the difficulty of knowing his identity. His <i>destiny</i>.</p>
<p>She keeps her gun in her handbag.</p>
<p>They have always lived on numbered days.</p>
<p>When did she know that she would die for this boy?</p>
<p>(<i>He is not her son</i>).</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The idea of Mary-Jo and Teddy going camping a lot is stolen whole from <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ardatli/pseuds/Ardatli">Ardatli!</a> And the image of the Altmans scouring thrift shops for vintage action figures comes from Anthony Oliveria. It worked so well with my headcanon of Teddy being a big <i>He-Man</i> fan that I had to work it in.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><b>Content warnings:</b> A <b>nightmare sequence</b> (beginning "In her dreams, Tarnax IV burns...") involving nightmare imagery, unreality, planetary destruction, and child death; the final part contains <b>parental death</b> involving immolation. Please take care of yourselves!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>This is the second time she has come home to strange voices in her apartment.</p><p>Well, she realises upon pausing – just the <i>one</i> strange voice, actually. The other voices, now that she listens, are <i>very</i> familiar. A wave of reflexive annoyance sweeps through her, in the way it only can for a parent who has been subject to their child's favourite movie so many times she could perform the whole thing by heart.</p><p>"– had a point about this movie," says the unfamiliar voice. Male, young, a native New Yorker. Friendly and relaxed and amused.</p><p>"Look," says Teddy, in the way he has when he's trying not to laugh, "I never said it was a <i>good</i> movie. I just said it was my <i>favourite</i>."</p><p>"I can't believe you're doing this to me," says the voice. "This, Teddy – <i>this</i> is not <i>superhero behaviour</i> – "</p><p>He's cut off by Teddy's laughter, and by Mary-Jo's key in the door.</p><p>They're sitting on the couch – or, more accurately, they're sitting on one seat of the couch, legs pressed together from hip to ankle. Teddy has his arm along the back of it, perilously close to touching the shoulders of his friend. A friend who, for his part, is angled further towards Teddy than the TV. There's a small pile of Mary-Jo's self-help books on the empty seat of the couch.</p><p>"Mom!" says Teddy, pulling back his arm and flushing as if he's done something wrong. The other boy squeaks, and jumps to his feet, and his face is just as red.</p><p>He's… smaller, than Teddy's other friends. Not only in height, but in how he's holding himself. He's not trying to spread his shoulders, puff his chest. His hair is a black wavy mess, not carefully styled with an ocean of gel; he's wearing cargo pants and a black t-shirt with a purple eye looking over a silhouette of a town, both baggy on his bony frame. His socks are patterned with the Avengers' logo, and his shoes are neatly placed beside Teddy's in the hallway. He still smells like teenage boy – sweat and testosterone and anxiety – but also faintly of coconut shampoo.  He has brown eyes and long eyelashes (and something about the shape of them is distantly familiar to her).</p><p>"Hi!" the boy says, voice high and slightly too loud. "I'm Billy! I'm, um, I'm Teddy's friend! Billy Kaplan, we um, we know each other, is why I'm here, we're friends, hi, um, thank you for letting me in your home! I, well, Teddy did, but – "</p><p>Teddy's covering his hand with his mouth, as if that will disguise his laughter. Billy shoots him a sour look.</p><p>"It's nice to meet you, Billy," Mary-Jo Altman says. "Are you staying for dinner?"</p><p>She notices how Teddy sits up.</p><p>"Um," says Billy, looking at Teddy. "Am I? I don't… I'll need to ask my Mom, I mean. Um. So she knows where I am."</p><p>Mary-Jo says nothing. Teddy's looking at her like he used to look at all the boxes on Christmas morning that could feasibly hold something <i>Pokémon</i> related.</p><p>"Oh, right," says Billy, diving for a backpack discarded next to the couch. He pulls a cell phone out of it, then makes a face as he looks at the screen. "Um," he says. "Could I borrow a charger? I, uh."</p><p>"My bedroom," says Teddy. "Bedside table."</p><p>"Okay," says Billy. He doesn't need to be shown which bedroom is Teddy's, disappearing inside without direction.</p><p>Hmm.</p><p>"I was thinking of takeout," Mary-Jo says. "Would pizza be okay with Billy?"</p><p>"Yeah, probably," says Teddy. "I mean. He eats pizza. How was work?"</p><p>Mary-Jo puts down her handbag and removes her jacket. "Awful," she says. "Absolutely horrendous. <i>Four</i> cancellations, but then it turned out one of those cancellations had been given the wrong time, and they were <i>very</i> unhappy with the mix-up. I had to coax Chantelle out of the bathroom again."</p><p>"That sucks," says Teddy. "Is she gonna be okay?"</p><p>Mary-Jo sighs. "I hope so," she says. "I don't think working with the public is doing her any good, but I can't exactly tell her to leave."</p><p>"I mean, you can," says Teddy. "You're her manager. But I get it! That just must really suck for everyone involved."</p><p>"It does," says Mary-Jo.</p><p>"Um," says Billy. She turns to see him hovering in the doorway to Teddy's bedroom, picking at the already chipped black nail polish on his left thumb. "Sorry, but. My Mom would like to talk to you? If that's okay."</p><p>"Of course," says Mary-Jo. She hears Teddy asking if everything is okay, and Billy assuring him that it is; Billy sitting back down on the couch, and the VHS of <i>He-Man and She-Ra: The Secret of the Sword</i> coming to a clunky stop as Teddy presses a button on the remote.</p><p>Mary-Jo sits on Teddy's bed, and holds Billy's cell phone to her ear.</p><p>"Hello," she says, in the pleasant tones of a woman experienced in customer service. "Mrs Mary-Jo Altman speaking, how can I help?"</p><p>"Hello, Mary-Jo," says the voice at the other end. "I'm Rebecca Kaplan, Billy's mother. I just wanted to confirm where he is, really. He's been staying out later than normal."</p><p>"I can assure you he is perfectly safe here," says Mary-Jo. "Is it all right for him to stay for dinner? I can send him home, of course."</p><p>"No, no, that's all right," says Rebecca Kaplan. "I only…"</p><p>She sighs heavily, and when she next speaks there's a change in her tone.</p><p>"Billy's always had trouble making friends," Rebecca Kaplan says. Raw. Oddly vulnerable. "He's… such a <i>unique</i> boy. And I know he's had troubles at school, and lately he's been coming home with so many bruises…"</p><p>Mary-Jo's metaphorical hackles rise. "Teddy would <i>never</i> –"</p><p>"I'm sure he wouldn’t," Rebecca says quickly. "Billy says he's made some new friends, and they've been… well, hanging out. Teaching him how to play ball and other boy things. I was… worried. Worried he'd fallen in with the wrong sort of people. You understand, don't you? He's your <i>son</i>."</p><p>Mary-Jo has to blink rapidly in the face of this rush of emotion. <i>Her son</i>. "Yes," she answers, her own voice cracking. "I do."</p><p>"Does he seem happy?"</p><p>Mary-Jo leans slightly on Teddy's bed to get a glance into the living room. She can't quite see the boys fully, but she can see Teddy's arm on the back of the couch again, and she can see how he's smiling at Billy Kaplan. How he's turned towards the other boy, drinking in every second with him.</p><p>He's so, <i>so</i> much like Anelle.</p><p>"Yes," Mary-Jo says. "Yes, he does. They look like they're… very <i>good</i> friends." How to diplomatically tell this woman that Teddy looks at his new friend like a princess willing to forego thousands of years of history to spend even a second in his company…</p><p>"Thank you," says Rebecca. "Billy's curfew is at nine, so we'd be grateful if you could have him home by then."</p><p>Mary-Jo laughs. "That's my bedtime," she says, "he'll <i>definitely</i> be home by then. Is there anything I need to know? Any allergies?"</p><p>"None as far as we know – we do keep kosher, though."</p><p>"I was thinking of ordering pizza? Individual ones."</p><p>"Pizza's fine! Thank you. It's been lovely meeting you – well, talking to you."</p><p>"It <i>has</i>," says Mary-Jo. She's never gotten to be friends with any of Teddy's parents' friends before. He was a reserved child, and when you can't reciprocate birthday party invitations you tend to stop getting them. She'd shared small talk with some of the other basketball team member's parents, but they were generally far more invested in the game than she was and conversation dried up. "I have a feeling this isn't going to be the last time we do."</p><p>Rebecca laughs. "That would be nice," she says. "Have a good evening, Mary-Jo."</p><p>"You too, Rebecca."</p><p>When she returns to the living room, both Billy <i>and</i> Teddy are giving her the giant puppy-eyes of hope.</p><p>Mary-Jo picks up the takeout menus next to the phone and hands them out to the boys. "You pick, I'll call."</p><p>The sheer <i>joy</i> on Teddy's face – if ever there was a moment she'd want to keep in a bottle, frozen and perfect, it’s this one. He looks as if she has given him the greatest gift he could ask for; he looks as if he never knew this level of happiness was possible; he looks like she's agreed to sneak him down into the cells to visit a prisoner of war.</p><p>Teddy gets his meat feast, Billy opts for a vegetable medley, and she gets her customary Hawaiian. They watch the last of <i>He-Man and She-Ra</i> as they await their food. She hasn't seen Teddy laugh this much in years. Even <i>her</i> criticism is greeted with chortles.</p><p>It doesn't, at least, look like this is one-sided. Billy's looking at Teddy with much the same adoration, blushing just as much when their hands brush, eyes just as bright. Good, she thinks. The cruelty of Teddy's first love being unrequited would have been unacceptable.</p><p>He's a pleasant boy, too. Polite. Witty, but none of his jokes are cruel. The anxiety he vibrates with lessens the longer he spends in Teddy's company, the more Teddy rewards him with smiles, the more he meets Teddy's eyes. They're a melting pot of mutual affection, twin stars alight in each other's presence, reflecting back to the other their own joy at their togetherness.</p><p>She wonders if they think they're being subtle.</p><p>When eight pm rolls around Billy announces sadly that he should probably get going. Teddy leaps to volunteer to walk him to the subway, and Mary-Jo of course gives him permission. How could she not?</p><p>She wonders, idly, how much Billy knows. Has Teddy let him in on the secret of his powers? If he doesn't know already, she reflects, he'll likely know <i>soon</i>. As far as she's aware only she and Teddy know of Teddy's abilities – there was never a repeated incident of that afternoon in the jungle gym.</p><p>(<i>Find the joy I couldn't give you</i>.)</p><p>She knows that the heart-pounding flings of adolescence aren’t supposed to last; is well aware that romantic entanglements do not necessary correlate to an improvement of life quality (she certainly never had the interest in pursuing any). Still. Teddy could do a lot worse than Billy Kaplan. Especially given that, for a while there, he <i>was</i>.</p><p>Teddy gets back at half eight. He lingers in the hallways as he takes off his shoes.</p><p>"Did you tell Billy to text when he gets home?" Mary-Jo says.</p><p>"I did, yeah," says Teddy. "He will."</p><p>"Good," says Mary-Jo, stretching her arms above her head. "He was nice."</p><p>"Mm," says Teddy.</p><p>Is the next question too calculating? She asks it anyway.</p><p>"He seems very different to the basketball team."</p><p>"Ah," says Teddy, "yeah."</p><p>He rubs the back of his neck, cheeks turning a faint pink.</p><p>"They didn't… they didn't like him much. He's not… that kind of person? I, um. I quit."</p><p>Mary-Jo really <i>tries</i> not to look so pleased, honest. She <i>tries</i> not to beam.</p><p>"You did?" she says. "That's a shame."</p><p>Teddy snorts. "No it isn’t," he says. "They were jerks. It was… It was a bad idea. You were right. I <i>could</i> do better." He sits on the couch, in the space recently vacated by Billy Kaplan. "I'm… sorry."</p><p>"Oh, honey," she says, patting his shoulder. "<i>You</i> don't need to be sorry. Sometimes you need to try things, to see how it fits. I'd rather you try while you're young, and go back on it without consequence."</p><p>Teddy wrinkles his nose. "Coach still keeps asking me to re-join," he says.</p><p>"If he's bothering you I can talk to the school."</p><p>"No, it's not that bad. Just kind of annoying. I'm fine. I'm… good, actually. I… I like hanging out with Billy."</p><p>"Mm-hmm," she says.</p><p>Teddy blushes redder, looking down at his feet.</p><p>"He's a lovely boy," she says. "I'm glad you've found someone like him."</p><p>Teddy nods. "Me too," he says softly.</p><p>"I'm surprised that tape still <i>works</i>," she muses. "I thought you'd already watched it to death."</p><p>Teddy grins. "When that happens I'll just get the DVD."</p><p>She doesn't say that Billy must like Teddy a whole lot to sit through the entirety of that movie, largely because she thinks Teddy already knows. She doesn't, either, ask what he's been doing after school for so long if he's quit the basketball team – she can, she thinks, make an educated guess. She hopes he's happy. She hopes he keeps <i>being</i> happy. She hopes that the inclusion of Billy Kaplan in Teddy's life brings only good things.</p><p>She hopes he's closer to finding the joy he could never have had as Prince Dorrek VIII.</p>
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  <p>*</p>
</div><p>She spends almost as much time on the phone with Rebecca Kaplan as Teddy does in Billy's company.</p><p>One calls the other almost every day, asking for the return of their son, or if he's not there to pass the message to him to get home when he appears. Often by the time their child comes home they're <i>still</i> chatting. At first Teddy seems bemused by this friendship, but he accepts it easily enough. He certainly doesn't seem to begrudge the extra minutes it's winning him with Billy, as Rebecca's less strict about Billy's curfew when distracted by Mary-Jo.</p><p>Teddy looks happier than he has in <i>months</i>. Still glued to his cell phone, but sometimes he shares the jokes and memes Billy's sent him with his mother. He looks bright and cheerful and comfortable in his skin. He touches the top of doorways when he walks through them again. He helps out with dinner again. They <i>talk</i> again.</p><p>There's <i>something</i> he's still hiding; something he skirts away from the edge of, something he doesn't want to discuss with his mother. She tries a couple of times, pokes at this fence around his secret, but Teddy is resolute. There's something he doesn't want – isn't yet ready to – discuss with his mother. She doesn't push. She's pretty sure she knows what it is.</p><p>Not that Teddy has confirmed to her the nature of his affections for Billy. To be honest, at this point, she doesn't think he needs to. He screams it with everything other than his words: with his body language, his tone, the dreamy look he gets in his eyes when he talks about his "best friend." How the smell of Billy lingers on him at home, though not strongly enough that a regular human mother would have noticed it.</p><p>She is, yes, a little hurt that he would try to keep this from her – but he's young. He's a teenager. She understands well enough that sometimes humans react negatively to learning their offspring is, what's the word. Homosexual. Queer. That revealing this aspect of yourself to even the most understanding of parents can be a daunting task. (Thank you, Book Club's decision to read <i>Simon vs the Homo Sapiens Agenda</i> for Pride Month). She tries to reassure him wordlessly; mentions how lovely Northstar and his partner are at every one of their media appearances. Puts a cheerful rainbow sticker in their living room window. Leaves $20 in the key bowl on the side table by the door when she can, with a note to treat himself "and friends" to something nice. (He always takes it).</p><p>She thinks he tries, once. To tell her.</p><p>"Mom," he says, shoulders square, face serious. "I… You should know that I…"</p><p>She waits patiently, but something in her expression must be wrong because he deflates.</p><p>"I just… I love you a lot, you know?" he says instead.</p><p>She smiles, rises from her to stand with him. Were he shorter she would kiss his forehead. As is, he overtook her in height the summer before high school, so she settles for looking up at him fondly. He looks a lot like Mar-Vell: the line of his jaw, the fineness of his hair, the breadth of his shoulders. He has Anelle's heart, though.</p><p>(He is not her son).</p><p>"I love you too, sweetie," she says warmly. "Is Billy coming over tonight?"</p><p>"No," Teddy says, with quite a lot of disappointment. "He's got a Chem quiz tomorrow, and if he fails he'll have to retake it, and if he has to retake it he'll have less time to hang out with me and the guys."</p><p>"The guys?" she repeats. She had assumed that quitting the basketball team had meant quitting those toxic relationships.</p><p>"Eli and Nate," Teddy clarifies. "They go to different schools. Billy knows Eli from the library. Nate just kind of… turned up? They're cool, don't worry. They're not like my old friends."</p><p>"I trust you," she says.</p><p>There's that smile again. The one that meant he <i>said</i> he was going to basketball, but saw him coming home smelling of cigarettes and alcohol and Greg Norris. (<i>Coward</i>, she calls Greg, because that is the worst insult a Skrull could fling.) He's not going to the kind of parties with underage drinking any more – at least, as far as she can tell. Gone is the haze of cheap beer and Axe body spray, for which she is <i>very grateful</i>. He does come in smelling like sweat, though. Physical exertion.</p><p>Following the line of that logic…</p><p>"Have you covered safe sex in school yet?" she asks.</p><p>The blood leaves Teddy's face in a rush. "No," he wails quietly.</p><p>She grins, pats his shoulders. "I'll get my laser pointer."</p><p>Much louder, and with even more horror: "<i>No!</i>"</p>
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  <p>*</p>
</div><p>She worries, of course. Worries when he's out of the apartment, when he's out of her sight. What can she do? Make him a prisoner in his own home? Forbid him from having friends, now that he finally has good ones? <i>Monitor</i> him? Teddy's done nothing wrong. If she makes him suffer for the sake of "safety" based on his birthright – really, how would she be any different than the people she wants to protect him from?</p><p>Besides, he actually <i>does</i> spend more time at home now. His new friends don't seem to feel the need to dominate his time as the basketball team did.</p><p>She's curtailed her own nonsense. No more wine and pottery, no more drink with the girls. They ask if she's okay and she says she's trying to concentrate on other things. They think she means a promotion. Star asks, earnest and conspiratorial, if she's met someone. Mary-Jo smiles and deflects. She's fine! She's just figuring some things out. Finding herself. Star accepts, and nods, and reminds her that if she needs anything she's got friends here.</p><p>Mary-Jo Altman is always fine. She's never met a problem she can't solve.</p><p>She wanted – wants – to give Teddy an ordinary life. That means eking out his independence, and waiting patiently at home as he tests its limits. It means worrying about his absence. It means checking her phone for messages and checking the news for alien activity.</p><p>It means a gun in her handbag, and her finger ready for the trigger.</p><p>(Their days are numbered, and she will die for this boy).</p>
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  <p>*</p>
</div><p>It's a windy day, and she holds her file of papers close to her chest as she walks to her car. They had been a nice couple. Young, professional, looking for an apartment together. This one is a little out of the way, not great transport links, but it has its own parking space <i>and</i> she said, eyebrow slightly raised, room for a growing family. (There's always room for a growing family, provided the family doesn't grow too large too quickly).</p><p>When she first hears Billy's voice she assumes she's hearing things, but then she hears Teddy's voice too and looks up.</p><p>A rough patch of greenery – what might have once been a baseball field, or a football field, or just the sort of random patch of grassland the housing developers decided not to build on for whatever reason. (Usually because this can be called a "green area" and used to increase prices in the area). A chain link fence falls in disrepair around its perimeter, gaps more than large enough for a teenage boy to climb through.</p><p>Billy's wearing black jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, and over it he's wearing red fabric as some sort of makeshift cape. As she watches he lies down dramatically on the scrub grass, arms and legs out like a starfish. Teddy approaches, in the cargo shorts and t-shirt he'd left for school in that morning, holding what looks like a foam ball to his chest. He stands over Billy, and it seems the two talk a little – the wind is too high for her to hear the words, and she doesn't want to shift her ears to increase their range in case it's noticed. At any rate, she can see Teddy's grin, even from here.</p><p>Teddy throws the ball down onto Billy's chest. The other boy curls around it, a play display of pain and submission. Teddy laughs.</p><p>There are two others with them; she would assume that these are Eli and Nate. One boy – Black, Arizona Wildcats football jersey, holding a foam ball under each arm – strides to Teddy and Billy, pausing only to throw one of his balls at Billy's head. The other has brown hair, a frown on his face, and is looking so intently at something on his wrist that he nearly walks over Billy when he joins his friends. It's only Teddy's outstretched arm that stops him planting his foot on Billy's face.</p><p>They discuss something; Arizona Wildcat throws his second foam ball at Billy, and the boy with the oversized wrist object seems deeply perplexed. Teddy picks up a foam ball to throw at him. This does not make the other boy any happier.</p><p>Billy's the one who spots her, leaning his head back (still on the ground) far enough that she looks directly into his eyes. His widen, and she smiles, giving the group a little wave.</p><p>Billy points, and Teddy yells, "Mom!" He says it the same way he had when she first found him and Billy sharing the couch together: as if he's been caught misbehaving, hand in the cookie jar before dinner, crayons on the walls, incriminating browser history left undeleted on the family computer. (This is why they do not have a shared family computer. She has her laptop for work, and he has a desktop in his room. What he does on it is decidedly <i>not</i> her business). She checks her expression, tries to channel only pleasant surprise with a complete lack of judgement. She's not going to hate his friends <i>on principle</i>. She had <i>reason</i> to hate the basketball team: they were awful. So far Billy has been nothing but charming, and she's sure the new two are just as agreeable.</p><p>Teddy jogs over to the fence, Arizona Wildcat walking more sedately after him. Wrist Watch offers a hand to help Billy to his feet, who, once upright, checks his cape.</p><p>"Hello, sweetheart," she says when Teddy's within earshot. "Having fun?"</p><p>"Yeah," says Teddy. "Why are you here? I mean, um." He pauses, rubs the back of his neck. His question <i>had</i> come out terribly accusatory. "Didn't know your office handled this far out?"</p><p>"We go as far out as we need to," she answers. "I think the furthest we've had was Cape Cod. Remember? We went down there for a weekend."</p><p>She'd had a house showing on the Saturday, and she and Teddy had spent the Sunday beachcombing.</p><p>"Oh, right," says Teddy. "Yeah. Um. Were you doing a showing?"</p><p>She points at the apartment building behind her. "That one there," she says. "Just a regular appointment. Isn't this a little far from civilisation for you boys?"</p><p>The other boys have reached them by this point. "It's quiet," Teddy says. "We, uh. Just like our privacy."</p><p>"It's LARP practice," Arizona Wildcat says.</p><p>"LARP?"</p><p>"Live-Action Role-Play," Arizona Wildcat explains. "Like <i>Dungeons &amp; Dragons</i>, but we act it out. It's harder to do in crowded places, and there's some social stigma attached."</p><p>"This is Eli," Teddy says, indicating the boy. "And that's Nate, with Billy."</p><p>"That's why Billy's wearing that dumb cape." Eli raises his voice at that last part. Billy hears, and wrinkles his nose.</p><p>"It's important to practice with spatial awareness and stuff!" Billy protests. "I need to get used to it! Just because <i>you</i> can't have a cape."</p><p>"I don't want one."</p><p>Nate tilts his head. "Has Cap ever had a cape?"</p><p>"I don't think so," says Teddy.</p><p>"Because a cape doesn't make practical sense on the battlefield," says Eli.</p><p>"It makes every sense," says Billy, "because it looks cool, and dramatic, and I like it."</p><p>Billy's cape is a little short and tattered to be "cool and dramatic," but she's not about to point that out.</p><p>"Wait, no, Cap <i>did</i> have a cape once," says Teddy. "With the – "</p><p>"With the <i>v-neck</i>," Billy breathes.</p><p>"Pretty sure he wasn't being Captain America then," says Eli.</p><p>"Would you like a ride home, Teddy?" she interrupts, before the boys can get <i>really</i> into what seems a well-worn argument.</p><p>"No, I'm okay," says Teddy quickly. "We'll head back together. Want to get some more practice in. If that's okay?"</p><p>She smiles. "That's fine. Are you having dinner with me tonight, or with the Kaplans?"</p><p>Billy turns as red as his cape.</p><p>"I'll be home," Teddy says. "Thanks. Um. I'll text you when I get on the subway."</p><p>"Don't stay out too late past dark," is her only request, though she knows he won't. He wouldn’t make her wait that long. "I need to head back to the office, but you boys have fun, okay?"</p><p>"We will," Teddy says. "Thanks. Bye."</p><p>He gives a little half-wave, which is echoed by Billy, and then picked up on by Nate. Eli waves in a more socially ordinary way.</p><p>When she's far enough a distance away that an ordinary human mother wouldn't overhear, she overhears Eli say, "Your mom looks kind of like Gillian Anderson."</p><p>"<i>That's</i> who it is!" Billy says loudly. "I <i>knew</i> she reminded me of someone – yes! Gillian Anderson, but if she looked –"</p><p>"– like a normal human person, instead of Gillian Anderson," Eli finishes.</p><p>"<i>Guys</i>," Teddy says.</p><p>"It's a good thing!" Billy says. "Scully's great!"</p><p>"Who's Gillian Anderson?" Nate asks.</p><p>She smiles a little smugly as she opens her car door, and tries to remember if that history book from so long ago had anything about popular media.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div><p>She shakes her head sadly.</p><p>"What?" Teddy says, mouth full of cereal.</p><p>"Those poor children," she says.</p><p>It's the headline of the day: "Young Avengers." Four children – boys, probably no older than Teddy – dressed up in costume. Shaky cell-phone footage repeats again and again on the morning news, with interviews with some of the witnesses.</p><p>Oh, they look the part. One boy in red and silver armour a la Iron Man. One boy in a blue shirt with military-style brass buttons on the right side, with red striped white trousers and red gloves. One boy in black, silver wings on his silver headband and a ragged red cape hanging off one shoulder. One boy green with darker green hair in a padded tank top of some kind.</p><p>The news anchor keeps repeating how much of a resemblance these children bear to the original Avengers: Iron Man, Captain America, Thor, and the Hulk. Perhaps they do – were it Halloween night, and they explained their obviously homemade outfits before receiving their candy at your door.</p><p>"What's wrong with them?" Teddy says. "They saved people from that fire."</p><p>"Yes they did," she concedes, "but that's what we have firefighters for."</p><p>"Shouldn't someone help how they can?" Teddy persists. "If they’ve got the powers the news says they do…"</p><p>"The best way for a child to help is to be a child," she says. "If they want to be superheroes when they're older, then fine – but not while they're so <i>young</i>. Right now they should leave this sort of thing," she waves a hand at the TV, "to the Avengers and the trained professionals."</p><p>"But there <i>aren't</i> any Avengers right now," Teddy says, almost with an air of victory. "So maybe these kids don't have a choice."</p><p>"The <i>adults</i> have a choice," she says. "<i>They</i> have a choice to step up and do their job, or let these child soldiers do it, and live with the guilt of that."</p><p>"They're not <i>child soldiers!</i>" Teddy objects hotly.</p><p>She doesn't say, <i>Teddy, sweetie, I'm a Skrull. I know a child soldier when I see one. I used to help in raising them. Isn't that just awful?</i></p><p>She levels a look at him instead, eyebrows raised. She's trying not to be patronising, but in this instance she really <i>does</i> know better. Teddy returns her gaze, forehead creased, before grudgingly turning back to his cereal.</p><p>"What about the X-Men?" Teddy says. "A lot of them start really young."</p><p>"Teddy," she says flatly, "you <i>know</i> my thoughts on the X-Men."</p><p>The fact that they rarely <i>stay dead</i> does not, she thinks, alleviate how horrible their mortality rate is – especially for an institution that calls itself a <i>school</i>.</p><p>Teddy is frowning at his breakfast.</p><p>She doesn't want him becoming a superhero. Honestly, she would take <i>anything</i> but that. Re-join the basketball team. Become a tax attorney exclusively for billionaires. Anything other than having his face so well-known on his home planet that it gains popularity on others, that it catches the attention of the Skrull and the Kree.</p><p>(<i>Who else knew?</i> Who else other than she and Anelle? Who outside of their duo was aware of the existence of this miraculous child?)</p><p>Maybe it's inevitable. His father was a hero, his mother a paragon of sweetness and good. Maybe it's inevitable that he'd be looking for ways to help.</p><p>She sighs. "I'm not trying to criticise the whole idea of superheroes," she says, though she <i>does</i> have a lot to say on that subject that <i>sounds</i> very much like criticism. "But it's really something that should be left to the adults. I just…"</p><p>She looks at the screen. They're again playing the blurry footage of the Hulk boy kneeling in front of a small child, handing them a stuffed toy.</p><p>"I just hate to think of the worry their parents must be going through," she finishes.</p><p>Teddy is quiet for the rest of breakfast.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div><p>The Young Avengers don't stick around for long, despite the Daily Bugle's obsession with the young group seeing them dominate its pages for quite some time. Their second attempt at heroics sees them botch a rescue attempt so badly that St Patrick's Cathedral catches fire. As quickly as they came, they disappear.</p><p>They make a brief reappearance once, with new members. Her heart sinks, thinking of their families.</p><p>(There is… Something familiar. There never seems to be a clear picture of the boy with the silver headband, but something about him… The shade of blond that is Hulkling's hair… The way the two of them lean into each other…</p><p>No. He wouldn't.</p><p>He wouldn't do that to her.)</p><p>That doesn't last long, either.</p><p>Thank the stars.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div><p>In her dreams, Tarnax IV burns and Galactus fills the sky. The Skrull armada rises against him with noble intentions and no hope of success, like a fly flinging itself against a closed window. Galactus pays as much heed as that – he swipes them out of the air like they're momentary nuisances. His hands, huge as cities, tear hunks from the planet to stuff into his maw. He is the World-Eater, and he is come.</p><p>In her dreams, the planet that she is supposed to think of as home burns.</p><p>She is running, in her blue skirt suit that is Mary-Jo Altman's uniform and was not made for anything more strenuous than climbing stairs. Her skirt tears from the size of her steps and she keeps going. She loses her heels, exposing her soft human feet, and even as glass and rock cut into them she keeps going. Smoke and screams fill the air, cries of despair and pain, pleading for salvation, and she keeps running.</p><p>In her dreams, everything burns, and she cannot find Teddy.</p><p>She runs through streets she used to know, passes faces that she used to know, is supposed to miss. Hands catch at her arms, her ankles. Pleas drown her ears. They call for her in the name she has not heard since she left the Skrull Throneworld, the name that she knows is meant to be <i>hers</i>. They beg her to save them, to help them, to <i>look</i> at them. She is brought to her knees by them. The man she called father, pulling at her wrists; the woman she called mother, pulling at her legs; the people she called sisters, brothers, friends; the sweet kitchen maid who would smile at her approach and sneak her pastries. They pull her down.</p><p>"Don’t leave us!" they cry. "Please! We need you!"</p><p>She fights, scratches and bites until they release her, blood on her nails and teeth. Their blood. She takes off running, and they sob in her wake.</p><p>The remnants of Skrull ships crash to the ground. Adults, children, pets, buildings, plants – all crushed before Galactus. There is no escape. The end is here, and he is destruction incarnate.</p><p>She can't leave without Teddy.</p><p>She runs through the doors of her childhood home and enters the palace, the throne room. The guards have abandoned their posts. There is only one occupant in the whole room, and she sits atop the throne that is her birthright. Her face is cold and harsh.</p><p>She doesn't care.</p><p>Because there, in Princess Anelle's arms: the infant Teddy.</p><p>"Please," she says, stepping towards the princess. "Let me take him. I can save him."</p><p>"No," says Anelle. "He is mine, and he will die with me."</p><p>"He's just a <i>child!</i>" she shouts, her voice echoing, bouncing off the finely carved walls and polished floors. The sounds of Galactus' conquest is muted in here, but visible still through the empty windows. "He hasn't even <i>lived!</i> Please! Let me take him!"</p><p>"<i>No</i>," says Anelle. "He belongs with <i>me</i>. He belongs with his <i>real</i> mother."</p><p>She climbs the stairs to the throne. They are so high, and so steep, that she has to crawl. Her bloodied hands slip on the smooth stone but she pushes onwards.</p><p>"Please," she repeats, and that is all she can say. A mantra, <i>please, please, please, I can save him, please, please, please, please,</i> until her voice is as mangled and raw as her body.</p><p>"No," says Teddy.</p><p>He stands beside his mother. He wears her crown. He is tall and noble and handsome and terrible. In his hands he grips a sword. His blue eyes are glacial cold.</p><p>"You are not my mother," he says. "You are nothing."</p><p>He raises the sword. The tip is pointed at her throat.</p><p>Before he can lower it, Galactus descends. He picks up the throne, dais and all. Teddy's wings are crushed between his fingers. Galactus brings the boy to his mouth –</p><p>She screams, and the noise wakes her.</p><p>Her heart pounds, her breaths rough and ragged. Tears wet her cheeks.</p><p>Her bedroom door is flung open.</p><p>Teddy stands there, fingers grown into claws, seven feet tall and stretching his pyjamas to the point of tearing. His eyes reflect what little light there is – shifted, to better see in the dark.</p><p>"Mom?!" he says. "What's wrong?"</p><p>She takes a deep breath.</p><p>She wants to run to him. Hold him. Let his physical existence quell the fear still prowling her chest. Tell him the truth.</p><p>She forces herself to smile.</p><p>"I'm sorry," she says. "Nightmare."</p><p>Teddy shrinks, back to his more usual height, his skin losing its green tinge for pink-peach. His fingernails become fingernails again. "You sure?" he says. "That… sounds like it was a really bad nightmare, Mom."</p><p>"It was," she says – and she says it too earnestly, too truthfully, because Teddy's face creases with concern. "But it was just a dream," she clarifies. "Just a bad dream."</p><p>Teddy stays in the doorway. "Do you need anything?" he asks. "Water? Hot cocoa? Music or something?"</p><p>Tears fall unbidden again – but this time not from fear. That was the ritual when Teddy had bad dreams: come to his mother's room, wake her, and she would make him hot cocoa and put on whatever album he requested. He'd fallen asleep on the couch many a time to Bruce Springsteen, head pillowed on her lap.</p><p>"I'm fine," she says. "Thank you. But water does sound like a good idea."</p><p>She rises, relieved to find that though she still shakes her legs will hold her. It's in doing so she notices – she's shredded her duvet.  She turns it down before Teddy can notice, can ask how her blunt human nails caused <i>that</i> much damage to her bedsheets.</p><p>Teddy follows her to the kitchen. He fills his own glass while he's there, leans against the counters with her as she slowly drinks it.</p><p>"Can I help?" he asks.</p><p>She brushes her hair back from her sweaty forehead. "Not really," she says. "Sorry. It's just… Nightmares."</p><p>"What about?"</p><p>He asks not out of curiosity, but out of a sincere want to help. Despite everything, she has raised him well – he has been raised well, despite her.</p><p>"Standard Mom stuff," she half-answers. "I'm in a strange place and can't find you. They happened a lot more when you were small," she adds, a truth at last. "Like I'm in a mall, and I turned my back, and when I turn back you're gone, and no one will help me find you." She smiles weakly at his guilty expression. "It's nothing you've done, honey. All moms have dreams like that."</p><p>He sips his water. "Sorry," he says.</p><p>"It's fine," she says. "It happens. Work has been a lot, lately. Bringing up a lot of stress."</p><p>It has, too. She never meant to incite any ill will with her friends, but her forced absence from their social circle has apparently done that. It's nothing so significant as to require any formal intervention. It's only small things: curt nods where once were smiles. Her coffee mug left unfilled. No invitations to outings, or tagging in amusing Facebook posts. Small stones, not boulders.</p><p>She's had to time her entrances and exits from the apartment building to avoid running into Zelda. The older woman's understanding face as she turns down yet another of her invitations is too much to bear.</p><p>"I'm sorry," Teddy says again.</p><p>"It's fine," she says again. "Do you know where your old headphones are? I'd like to borrow them, if that's okay."</p><p>He finds them in one of his desk drawers and hands them over. She smiles, and wishes him goodnight again, and he closes his bedroom door behind him.</p><p>She plugs the headphones into the old CD player – so old it still has a tape deck function – and presses play without checking what's in there. It turns out to be Kate Bush's <i>The Sensual World</i>, which suits her just fine. She closes her eyes and lets the music wash over her. It does so lop-sided, as these old headphones of Teddy's became his old headphones because the right speaker is on the fritz, but it's enough to distract from her thoughts.</p><p>(Thoughts like:</p><p>How did Anelle die? Did she burn with the planet? Choke on the atmosphere Galactus devoured? Did she die slowly? Did she take her own life, to avoid the suffering Galactus would wreak upon her? Did she die quickly, crushed between his monstrous molars? Did she fight? Or did she accept her fate, helpless before Galactus' impossible might?</p><p>What were her last thoughts? Did she wish her son was with her? Did she thank her stars that she had smuggled him off-planet – or send curses to the traitorous nursemaid who neglects her legacy?)</p><p>"This Woman's Work" always makes her cry.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div><p>She's groggy through work the next day. She brings the wrong keys to one viewing and the wrong specs to another. Marv asks, kindly, if she's okay, before gently suggesting that she spend today catching up on paperwork. She takes the opportunity gratefully. She has too many things to think about, and it's less dangerous to do it here than behind the wheel.</p><p>Her hands shake as she types at her computer.</p><p>She needs to tell him.</p><p>She <i>has</i> to.</p><p>She should have told him already. Honestly, it's atrocious that she hasn't. Awful. Unforgiveable. Treasonous. He deserves to know, has always <i>deserved to know</i>. It's his own story! His own truth! She had no right to hide it from him.</p><p>It… It made sense to, when he was young. Small children trust too easily and speak too freely. Besides, what more damage would she have done had they both been paranoid and watchful? Better that she shouldered that burden. The persona of overprotective single mother fit her snugly and didn't raise eyebrows from others. Teddy would only have suffered had he been aware of the constant danger she perceived. Hadn't this entire exercise been an attempt to give him a happy, normal, ordinary, commonplace life?</p><p>He's sixteen now. Old enough to understand the responsibility.</p><p>Old enough to want the answers she's kept from him.</p><p>He's not her son. Never has been. He is her prince, and she is his servant.</p><p>Maybe he'll be kind. Will agree to carry on their charade of mother and son for appearance's sake, and not greet the news with the anger she deserves. He has such a good heart – maybe he'll extend that even to her.</p><p>He's old enough to make his own decisions.</p><p>He's old enough to know.</p><p>(He's always been old enough to know).</p><p>She drops her mug when she tries to drink her coffee. It hits the hard edge of her desk, shatters upon impact. For a moment she looks at the spilt coffee and broken ceramics on the office carpet.</p><p>Teddy made her that one. Well, "made." He decorated it. They'd passed a pottery shop hosting an event on one of their little vacations, and Teddy had chosen a mug to paint. He'd been too young to have any sort of grasp of colour theory or real understanding of aesthetics, but he'd shown her the resulting rainbow mess with so much <i>pride</i>.</p><p>"For Mommy!" he'd said, giving her a bright, toothy smile.</p><p>When they'd picked it up the next day, after it had been fully glazed and sealed overnight, he'd been <i>glowing</i>. He spent the entire car journey home marvelling at the mug in his lap, sticking his legs out in front of him in the passenger seat. The mug was too precious to be packed in a suitcase, and so had to be cradled in his grip for its safety. "I made this," he'd repeated again and again. "I made this for Mommy!"</p><p>It had been the best $15 she ever spent.</p><p>She cleans up the mess with paper towels, and ducks into the bathroom so no one sees her cry.</p><p>It doesn't really work. When she exits the cubicle it's to Star and Maria's concerned faces. They ask what's wrong, and the words don't come. They hug her anyway, even when she starts crying again.</p><p>"You don’t have to tell us," Maria says. "Just know we're here, okay?"</p><p>Marv asks if she wants to take the rest of the day off. She agrees to that, too. It's just past one. She can use that time to prepare what she's going to say to Teddy, she decides. Rehearse. Make flash cards.</p><p>She sends him a text before starting the car.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>Teddy</b>
  </p>
</div><blockquote class="rmsg">
  <p>13:17<br/>
What time will you be home today? There's something I need to talk to you about</p>
</blockquote><p>After a pause, she adds</p>
<p></p><blockquote class="rmsg">
  <p>13:19<br/>
(it's nothing to do with school or Billy)<br/>
I love you kiddo<br/>
Delivered ✓</p>
</blockquote><p>She stares at her phone, waiting for "delivered" to change to "read" but it doesn't come. He's in class, she realises. Of course he wouldn't be looking at his phone. Dumb mistake. She's really not thinking straight. He'll reply once he's done with school.</p><p>She drives home. Parks the car. Exits it. Locks it. Walks to the building door. Tries to remember if she locked the car. Checks it. Enters the building, climbs the stairs to her apartment, unlocks the door. Closes it behind her and leans against it, trying to breathe.</p><p>She swallows, starts up the coffee maker.</p><p>A knock at the door.</p><p>She's not even surprised when it's Zelda.</p><p>"Hello, sweetheart," Zelda says cheerfully.</p><p>"Hi, Zelda," she says. "It's… not really a good…"</p><p>She also isn't surprised when Zelda ignores her half-hearted protests and, somehow, ends up being the one making coffee while Mary-Jo sits at the small dining room table that once belonged to Zelda's brother.</p><p>"You all right?" Zelda asks. "Had trouble sleeping?"</p><p>"Oh," Mary-Jo says. "You heard that?"</p><p>"I imagine most of the building did," Zelda says, as if screaming strangers awake at night isn't something to be the least bit embarrassed about. "I had my hand on my phone in case I heard anything more and needed to call the cops. Last resort, of course, and I'm glad I didn't have to! How <i>are</i> you, Mary-Jo? It's been a while since we've had one of our chats."</p><p>Maybe Zelda doesn’t say that to pierce her breast with a blade of guilt, but it's what happens. "I've been busy," Mary-Jo says lamely.</p><p>"Oh, it's quite alright," says Zelda, over the sound of the coffee grinder's whirring. "It happens! But really, how <i>are</i> you?"</p><p>"I…"</p><p>She sighs and puts her head in her hands. She could lie, obviously. No one had ever really told her how <i>tiring</i> lying is. "Not good," she says.</p><p>"Work?" says Zelda. She removes two mugs from the cupboard – the multi-coloured chameleons, and one Mary-Jo got free from work bearing the company logo.</p><p>"Not really," Mary-Jo answers. She sighs again, removes her phone from her pocket to check it again. Still no reply from Teddy. She places it on the table before her. "It's Teddy," she says, hating her own predictability.</p><p>"How is he?" Zelda says. She adds the milk to the coffees, places them on the table, and takes the seat opposite Mary-Jo. "He's looked a lot happier lately. Out and about a lot with that other young boy."</p><p>"Billy," Mary-Jo says. "His name's Billy. I'm pretty sure he's Teddy's boyfriend." She places her hands around her coffee in her chameleon mug, cradles the warmth of it. She's not sure she trusts herself to pick it up. If she breaks <i>this</i> mug too… "He's not told me, yet, and maybe I've got it all wrong…"</p><p>"Teenagers are a lot easier to read than they think they are," Zelda says wisely. "How did the basketball team take that?"</p><p>"He quit." Another stab of guilt: she hasn't spoken to Zelda in so long that the old news of Teddy leaving basketball is new news to her. "He didn't really go into why, but I don't think they were big fans of Billy."</p><p>Zelda nods. "Toxic masculinity," she says sympathetically. "It's a real pain in the ass. Well, that's good, isn't it? You hated his teammates."</p><p>"Only because they were awful," Mary-Jo replies defensively. "They weren't good for him. They kept belittling him and keeping him out late and made <i>very</i> disparaging remarks about women."</p><p>"So what's the problem? Is it still that separation thing?"</p><p>"Sort of." Mary-Jo rubs at her eyes. When she pulls her fingers away they're covered in dark flecks of mascara. Darn. The packaging may read waterproof but the reality is a little different. "It's… I don't know. I don't even know where to <i>start</i>."</p><p>"The beginning, usually," says Zelda.</p><p>Ah yes. The beginning. <i>First things first: I am not human. I am a Skrull. I was a loyal servant of Princess Anelle, who you may not have heard of – Skrulls? You know what they are? Aliens. Green shape-shifting aliens. Obsessed with honour and very fond of battle. Yes, we have fought the Fantastic Four a lot. The rest of the Avengers, too. Please stop screaming.</i></p><p>"I've…" She checks her cell again. Still no new messages. "There's… there's something I need to tell Teddy. It's… pretty big. And really I should have told him already, he's mature enough to know, and he has been for years, but when he knows… I shouldn't have kept it from him for so long. He <i>deserves</i> to know."</p><p>Zelda's eyes are kind, but there's no disguising her interest. She keeps her voice soft, at least. "Is it about his father?" she says.</p><p>"Yes." Mary-Jo rakes her hand through her hair, trying to weigh up how much she can reveal, what she should keep back. "And his mother. Teddy… He's not my son."</p><p>There.</p><p>It's the first time she's admitted it.</p><p>"You adopted him?" says Zelda.</p><p>"I knew his mother," she says. "We were close. She couldn't keep him, so gave him to me, and I moved out here… The idea was always that she would join us when she could," she explains. "We didn't know when, but we hoped. But she passed away a few years ago. Teddy doesn't know about any of this."</p><p>"Oh, you poor <i>thing</i>," Zelda says. "That's <i>awful</i>. And you never told anybody?"</p><p>She smiles weakly. "You're the first."</p><p>"I am <i>so sorry</i>," says Zelda. "What was her name?"</p><p>"Anelle." She hadn't meant it to come out in such a reverent whisper – but it's the first time she's uttered her princess' name in over a decade. It doesn't sear her tongue, doesn't summon a vengeful ghost. It's just a name, of someone very dear and long dead.</p><p>Zelda takes her wrist. "And you've raised him all alone?"</p><p>"Not entirely alone," she says, turning her hand slightly so her fingers meet Zelda's. "I had you, and colleagues. I… never expected to make the friends I did."</p><p>"He doesn't know about any of this?"</p><p>She shakes her head. "I thought… I thought it would be easier for him not to know. He never met his father, and I didn't want to burden him with knowing I wasn't his real mother…"</p><p>"Now you stop that," Zelda snaps, suddenly harsh and sharp. "None of this 'real mother' crap. You raised him, didn't you? You changed his diapers, gave him his baths, took him to school. You did everything a mother does except give birth to him. You <i>are</i> his mother. You're his <i>real mother</i>, just as much as I am to my Susan. What, her being adopted invalidates all the times I was there for her? The vacations and the tantrums and the doctor's visits? <i>No</i>. You'll stop with that thinking."</p><p>She stares. She's never heard Zelda raise her voice like that at anything but persistent pigeons. "I didn't know Susan was adopted," she says.</p><p>Zelda shrugs. "We couldn't conceive. And the one thing I really wanted out of marriage was a child. So we adopted her. The paperwork was horrendous, and expensive, but she was worth every second and every cent."</p><p>She traces one of the chameleons with her fingertips. Its face is bright and cheery. "Did she ever… resent you?" she says. "When she knew?"</p><p>"A little," says Zelda. "She had a lot of anger in her. Which is fair, there was a lot going on inside her poor head! But find me a teenager who doesn't resent their parents at least a little and I'll give you all the money in my account and the rocks on my wrists. The important thing is that we were <i>there</i>, and gave her what we could, and it was a great deal better than her having nothing at all."</p><p>"His grandfather hated him," she says. "It wasn't safe for him to stay with her."</p><p>"He'll probably be a bit mad at first," Zelda says knowledgably, "but he'll come around. Just give him the space he needs. You'll see. It all works out in the end. He's a good boy, and he owes so much of that to you."</p><p>She flushes red. "I don't know about that," she mumbles.</p><p>"He <i>does</i>," Zelda insists. "You're his <i>mother</i>."</p><p>She's saved from having to think of an answer by the buzzing of her phone. She snatches it up, heart pounding to see Teddy's response – but it's not from Teddy. It's from an unknown number. Frowning, she opens it up, expecting it to be spam.</p><p>Her heart freezes in her chest.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>Unknown</b>
  </p>
</div><blockquote class="lmsg">
  <p>He's looking for the boy<br/>
I didn't give him the name but he knew it already<br/>
I don't know what he wants</p>
  <p>This is all I can do</p>
  <p>Glory to you</p>
</blockquote><p>She stands so quickly her chair falls over.</p><p>"What's the matter?" says Zelda, but before she can finish Mary-Jo is speaking over her, saying, "I have to go." She grabs her keys and her coat and her purse, slips on the closest shoes to hand, is still pulling them on as she runs out the door and down the stairs.</p><p>She tries calling Teddy's number. No answer. What's he <i>doing?</i> Where <i>is</i> he? A glance at the clock and he should be out of school by now, free to check his phone, where <i>is</i> he, what is he <i>doing</i>, why won't he <i>pick up his phone?!</i></p><p>She tries Billy's number next, starting her car with shaking hands. No luck there either.</p><p>She scrolls through her contacts. Why didn't she get the number of any of Teddy's other friends? Who can she call? Should she try Stark Industries or something?!</p><p>Her finger lands on a name.</p><p>Rebecca.</p><p>Rebecca Kaplan answers on the second ring. "I'm afraid he's not here, Mary-Jo," she says. "Also, hello!"</p><p>"Do you have any idea where he is?" she says. Pleasantries can wait.</p><p>"I believe he and Billy said something about a friend of theirs," says Rebecca. "A fight, I think? They were going to see him."</p><p>"Do you know where they are?"</p><p>"No, I'm sorry. Are you all right?"</p><p>She swallows. "No. No, not at all. Teddy isn't answering his cell."</p><p>"Why don't you come here?" Rebecca says, in the soothing voice she has begun to recognise as her friend's "professional" tone. "One of them will turn up sooner or later, and he'll know where the other is."</p><p>That's not the right thing to do. Involving Rebecca further, beyond what their sons' entanglement demands as necessary? She should say no. Go back to her apartment. Wait it out.</p><p>What if Teddy needs her? What if he needs her, and she's too far away, and by the time she gets there it's too late?</p><p>(How did Anelle die?)</p><p>"Okay," she says. "Yes. I'll do that. See you in – see you in however long the traffic takes."</p><p>"I'll get the coffee," Rebecca says.</p><p>She hangs up.</p><p>She doesn't think her car has ever moved so slowly. She stops at every red light, seems to end up behind every student driver and cyclist and retiree in the city. She keeps checking her phone on the passenger seat but still nothing. Just the texts from an unknown number dominating the screen.</p><p>Did he memorise her number from their brief scheduling of the gun sale? Or keep it stored on his phone? She hopes it's the former. Stupid, stupid! She left these clues, these breadcrumbs…</p><p>She pulls up outside the Kaplans' apartment building and wastes further precious minutes finding a place to park, eventually having to settle some way down the street. She grabs her bag, locks the car, presses the intercom buzzer for Rebecca's number so hard the button doesn't want to depress when she's done. When Rebecca buzzes the main door open for her she doesn't hang around to share greetings, only strides in and begins furiously mashing the elevator call button until it finally, <i>finally</i> arrives. Why are human elevators so <i>slow?!</i> How hard is it to invent an elevator that doesn't take a thousand years to reach your floor?</p><p>The look Rebecca gives her when she opens the door tells her more about her appearance than any mirror could have. The minuscule raising eyebrows, the set of her mouth, the careful schooling of her expression.</p><p>"Is he here?" she asks.</p><p>"Not yet," says Rebecca. "Come in, sit down."</p><p>"Have you tried Billy's cell? He'll probably know – "</p><p>"Assuming it has any charge," Rebecca says. "I will, but first – tell me what's going on."</p><p>She's been led into the Kaplans' living room. It's nicely decorated, albeit a bit on the beige side. She's seated on the family couch before she can protest, and Rebecca sits beside her.</p><p>There's a display of Kaplan family pictures on the wall above the TV. Vacation snapshots and school pictures and three photographs from a professional shoot, of a much younger Billy with two toddlers that she assumes are his younger brothers on a white background. None of them look particularly enthused about the situation.</p><p>There exist almost no photos of Teddy, and even fewer of his mother.</p><p>Her hands won't stop shaking.</p><p>"I need to talk to Teddy," she says. "It's important, I just need… I need to know where he is. He needs to know."</p><p>"School didn't let out that long ago," says Rebecca.</p><p>She reaches into her pocket to grab her cell and comes up empty. She left it in the car. Can she not do <i>anything</i> right?</p><p>(Coward. Traitor.)</p><p>"I just need to see him," she says, and she doesn't know why she's pleading with <i>Rebecca Kaplan</i> of all people. "It can't wait; I've already waited much too long…"</p><p>"Maybe I can help," says Rebecca.</p><p>She wants to laugh, not because anything is funny but because her heart is pounding and it's not socially acceptable to scream in someone else's home. She doesn't do either, because Rebecca's already looking at her as if mentally composing a list of professionals to refer her to.</p><p>"You can’t," she says – too sharp, too raw. Rebecca can't cover her hurt quickly enough for her not to notice. "Sorry. I don't mean… I just mean it's, it's something that you wouldn't – It's not really something I can talk about with anyone else. Family thing."</p><p>There's a sharp, clear <i>ping</i> from the kitchen. She jumps, gripping her handbag tight.</p><p>Rebecca places a gentle hand on her arm. "I'll get the coffee," she says. "You just take a few deep breaths and gather your thoughts, okay?"</p><p>She does, takes one long deep breath more to appease Rebecca than because she thinks it will do any good. Her mind's still on fire and she's choking on the smoke but she does feel a little more present in her body, at least.</p><p>"Okay."</p><p>"I'll be back in a second."</p><p>She takes a few more deep breaths.</p><p>Voices in the corridor. A key in the door. She's already facing the hall and halfway to standing when they enter the apartment: Billy, two girls she doesn't recognise, one young and blonde and the other older, dark-haired and in a private school uniform, but more importantly…</p><p><i>Teddy</i>.</p><p>He looks almost as relieved to see her as she is to see him.</p><p>"Mom!" he says.</p><p>"Mrs Altman," says Billy.</p><p>She thinks she might cry.</p><p>"Oh, thank <i>God</i> you're alright," she says. She all but ignores Billy and the girls (though it is nice to see that Teddy has female friends) to cross the space to her son, taking in the sight of him. He was wearing brown corduroy pants and a white jacket when he dressed this morning; now he's in a hoodie and what at first glance she thought were shorts, only now to see that they're the same pants but hanging in tatters from the knees down.</p><p>"What are you doing here?" Teddy asks, as she asks, "What happened to your <i>clothes?</i>"</p><p>He's not torn his clothes with his shapeshifting in <i>years</i>. It used to happen with annoying frequency when he was small. He-Man's clothes might have changed shape with him, but Teddy Altman's unfortunately did not.</p><p>"Mom, what's going on?" says Billy.</p><p>"Teddy's mom called looking for him," says Rebecca. She's vaguely aware of Rebecca leaving the kitchen, of Billy and the girls focusing on her. "She sounded upset, so I – "</p><p>"Long story," Teddy says. She's putting her hands on his shoulders, his face, checking for injuries or traces of blood. This hoodie's slightly too small for him, stretches awkwardly over his frame. It's not one of his, she doesn’t think.</p><p>Yet despite this, Teddy's eyes are full of concern for <i>her</i>. He's looking at <i>her</i> as if <i>she</i> needs protecting, as if <i>she's</i> the one who should be the centre of the room, as if <i>she's</i> the one in danger…</p><p>(He's so much like his mother).</p><p>"You okay?" Teddy asks.</p><p>This is her chance. She has had so, so many chances.</p><p>Finally, she takes it.</p><p>"Honey," she says, trying to keep her voice from breaking, to keep from speaking so quickly her voice garbles, "there's something I have to tell you – "</p><p>It's the noise that knocks her back first, away from the exterior wall of the Kaplan apartment. For a moment she sits dizzy in the rubble, trying to orientate, trying to understand what happened. An explosion of some kind. Blasted into the wall, which is now mostly destroyed, a gaping hole where there should be solid brick. What kind of attack? A cannon? A blaster? A –</p><p>She looks up, at the figure dominating the empty air, at he whose pursuit of Teddy she was warned about –</p><p>Really.</p><p>Really?</p><p>It's Kl'rt?</p><p>Kl'rt?</p><p>Fucking <i>Kl'rt?!</i></p><p>Wasn't he dead? She'd thought he was dead. He <i>should</i> have been, either executed for the crime he'd been thrown in prison for or for his aid in helping Mar-Vell escape that same prison. He'd agreed to it, Anelle had said, because…</p><p>Because he was in love with her.</p><p>At least, that had always been his defence. He was in love with her. He'd sought to prove that love the only way Emperor Dorrek VII had recognised: through bloodshed and war, as if a love forged in death could ever be anything but a horror. He had captured Mar-Vell, Quicksilver, and the Scarlet Witch, and been imprisoned for the threat the Emperor perceived that to be; Dorrek VII had descended into madness three rungs at a time. When Anelle decided to facilitate Mar-Vell's escape (before she knew of Ted- Dorrek's inception) Kl'rt had volunteered to take on the Kree's shape.</p><p>Kl'rt had said he as in love with Anelle, and expressed that love the way a Skrull would. He would skulk after the princess, gaze at her from afar, take prisoners to exchange for her hand.</p><p>Of course he would want her son gone. Teddy's existence was evidence of her heart belonging to another man.</p><p>… Really, though. <i>Kl'rt?</i></p><p>He stands in the hole he has smashed into the Kaplans' living room, eyes glowing an unnatural yellow, one arm hard and rocky (did he punch the wall in? Did no one teach him basic manners?) and the other long and twisted, grasping the wriggling form of that same young Black boy Teddy had recently befriended.</p><p>"<i>Eli!</i>" Teddy yells.</p><p>She pushes her arm out in front of him, feels in the debris of the couch for her purse.</p><p>"No more hiding, lad," says Kl'rt. It's been so long since she heard an undisguised Tarnaxian accent that at first she thinks he's speaking Skrullian, that she can't understand what he's saying. "Come with me and we'll restore the Skrull Empire to its former glory… or your friend will <i>die</i>."</p><p>She never liked him. Always such a blowhard. Why is the choice given always doing what you want or death, Kl'rt? This is why Anelle never liked you.</p><p>"Don't listen to him, Teddy," says Eli. He's scared, sensibly, but she has to admire the courage he's displaying. Obviously she'd rather he <i>not</i> die: he's <i>young</i>, and kind, and deserves a far better fate than murdered by freaking <i>Kl'rt</i> over something that happened years ago and galaxies away. She just needs to find her purse…</p><p>Billy is whispering to Rebecca behind them, but her attention is drawn by Teddy standing. He does so slowly, shoulders set, jaw squared.</p><p>(He's so much like his father).</p><p>When he speaks, each syllable is like a rock laid across her tomb.</p><p>"Let Eli go," Teddy says, with the noble authority his bloodline has given him, "and I'll come with you."</p><p>"<i>No!</i>" she gasps, standing, reaching for Teddy with her empty hand – but he's moving out of her reach, stepping over the wreckage, hands fists at his sides. "Teddy, no!"</p><p>Teddy doesn’t look at her, eyes locked with the Super Skrull's. "It's okay Mom," Teddy says, confident and calm. "Once he sees that I'm not a Skrull – "</p><p>"But you <i>are</i>, hatchling," says Kl'rt. "I will <i>prove</i> it, by reverting you to your original form!"</p><p>He throws something from his belt, a metal sphere with a single blinking red light, <i>directly at Teddy</i>. The sphere opens, the red light intensifies, becomes a line that scans Teddy from his head down –</p><p>"<i>Teddy!</i>" Billy cries.</p><p>Her attempt to move out of the way is helped by Teddy's arm, pushing her from him, behind him, away from danger. "Mom, stand back!" he yells.</p><p>Not fast enough.</p><p>She feels it. Her cells rebelling against her will, her shape changing without her directive. What sort of technology is that? She's never seen anything like it, but then again she she'd only ever worked in the palace nursery or a New York real estate office. This seems like a war thing, for revealing Skrull spies among the ranks…</p><p>She looks up.</p><p>Rebecca Kaplan is staring at her in horror.</p><p>Her skin green, her ears pointed, her teeth vicious, her hands clawed.</p><p>She must look like a monster.</p><p>"I'm still me," Teddy is saying. "See? I told you, I'm not a Skrull."</p><p>She tries to shift back, tries so hard it almost <i>hurts</i>, but whatever that scanner did to her it's blocking her from changing.</p><p>"Mrs Altman…?" Billy says.</p><p>Teddy turns.</p><p>He sees.</p><p>His eyes widen. His jaw goes slack.</p><p>She is not his mother.</p><p>(He is not her son).</p><p>She is not the human Mary-Jo Altman. She is not a hardworking, moderately successful real estate agent single mom. She's not from California, and she never loved Mark Altman. She's never been married and she's never birthed a child.</p><p>She is a Skrull, an enemy of this planet.</p><p>"Teddy," she says, her wanting to reach for him warring with her wanting to hide herself, conceal this hideous visage, "I can explain."</p><p>
  <i>This isn't me.</i>
</p><p>Teddy's voice is shock and fear. "Mom…?"</p><p>"This female is not your <i>mother</i>," Kl'rt interjects (because stars forbid <i>he</i> not be the centre of attention). "She is a traitor to her race."</p><p>She glares.</p><p>When she says those words to herself, she knows them to be true. When Kl'rt says them, she wants to tear his tongue from his mouth to keep him from spreading further lies.</p><p>She unclasps her purse, quietly reaches her hand into it.</p><p>She only gets one shot at this. Kl'rt is a warrior. She is a nursemaid. One shot.</p><p>Better make it count.</p><p>She swallows. "The Princess ordered me to protect him," she says, hoping that mention of her will throw him off; that if there is any decency in Kl'rt it will be awakened by reference to dear, sweet, kind, beautiful Anelle.</p><p>Her fingers find her gun. Find the grip. Find the trigger.</p><p>"Even from the likes of <i>you!</i>"</p><p>She fires.</p><p>She had been aiming for the head.</p><p>She hits his shoulder.</p><p>(When did she know that she would die for this boy?)</p><p>One shot.</p><p>She couldn't make it count.</p><p>Kl'rt is knocked to the floor, at least, and has been forced to release Eli – but before she can aim again, before she can squeeze the trigger a second time, he flings out his hand.</p><p>"Consider your orders terminated," he says.</p><p>(They have always lived on numbered days).</p><p>Fire erupts from his fingers. His aim is true. Flames engulf her.</p><p>(Everything burns – especially when everything is built on lies).</p><p>Her hair catches first, then her clothes. That's what she gets for trying to avoid polymers, for trying to buy one hundred percent cotton when she can. Her clothes catch and stay aflame and the fire spreads across her body.</p><p>She drops the blaster.</p><p>"<i>Mom!</i>" Teddy shouts.</p><p>(How did Anelle die?)</p><p>It's so painful she can't truly feel it. Her green skin is burning with her trapped inside of it. Her flesh roasts, her muscles contract, her cells die.</p><p>(Did she burn with the planet?)</p><p>She screams while she still has voice with which to do so.</p><p>(What were her last thoughts? Did she wish her son had been with her?)</p><p>"Billy, <i>do something!</i>" Teddy howls. Even now – even in the face of her deception, of the truth finally coming to light – he still cares for her.</p><p>(When did she know she was going to die for this boy?)</p><p>"I'm <i>trying!</i>" says Billy.</p><p>She wishes this wasn't happening in front of them, in the Kaplan living room. She wants to apologise to Rebecca for the stain she will leave. No one should have to clean up that.</p><p>(Was it when the ersatz Skrull ships blocked out the sun, and her only care was for Teddy's safety? Was it when he asked to transfer schools and her heart broke at his vulnerability, his shyness? Was it when he presented to her with such pride a Mother's Day card of his own design, his hands still covered in glue and glitter? Was it when he looked up at her, still barely able to form sentences, and said as clearly as he could, "I love you, Mama!"?</p><p>Was it when Anelle handed him over, and she cradled him in her arms, and it seemed to her that everything good about the universe existed in this swaddled infant?</p><p>Perhaps it was before even that. She feels as if her whole life she had been waiting for Teddy to be in it. She feels as if she always knew this was how she would meet her end.)</p><p>She burns.</p><p>Her last thought is small, and it is selfish, and it is this:</p><p>She hopes that sometimes – not often, not a lot; only occasionally – Teddy will remember her. She hopes that sometimes he will think of her, and that when he does, he does it kindly; that, despite the lies, despite the secrets, he will be able to recall something about her with fondness. That when he does, he thinks of her not as a servant, and himself her prince, nor as a captive and he her prisoner. She hopes that sometimes, on no particular occasion, and for no particular reason, he will think of her as his mother – and himself as her son.</p>
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